04 - Rise of the Lycans (16 page)

His bloodshot eyes bulged at the sight of her. He staggered to his feet,
wincing only slightly as he did so, and grabbed onto the slime-encrusted bars
between them. The other lycans retreated into the gloomy corners of the cell,
evidently wanting nothing to do with this unlikely meeting. Her father’s
“cautionary tale” had clearly been absorbed by the cowed slaves, just as he had
intended. None of them wanted the same brutal treatment Lucian had received.

And who can blame them?

Worry showed on Lucian’s face. “You should not be here.”

“I had to.” Her throat tightened. Guilt stabbed her heart. “I am sorry,
Lucian.” She tried to peer around him to get a glimpse of his injuries. He
looked unscathed, but the tenebrous gloom made it difficult to see for certain.
“Your back… Are you…?”

He turned around to show her a bare back marred by only a few faint red
marks. “I am all right.”

Praise the House of Corvinus,
she thought, grateful for the immortal
bloodline that granted both lycans and vampires the ability to heal from almost
any injury. Never before had she realized just how great an ability this was.
Perhaps because she had never come this close to losing someone she loved.

“But your key… This is all my fault.” She lowered her eyes, unable to
meet his gaze. “If I had not gone out…”

“Then you would not be who you are.” His loving voice held no hint of anger
or recrimination. “Look at me.”

Relief flooded her heart. Could it truly be that he did not blame her for all
that had befallen him? Lifting her gaze from the floor, she found only warmth
and understanding in his intense brown eyes.

“It was knowing that I would see your lovely face again, when it was over,
that gave me the strength to endure my punishment. This is not your fault,” he
insisted. His expression darkened, however, and his voice grew more somber.
“But… I cannot remain here.” He glanced around at the moldy walls hemming him
in. Dangling chains and manacles spoke of centuries of torture and subjugation.
He tugged at the moon shackle around his neck. “I have to leave this place.”

Sonja swallowed hard, feeling more conflicted than ever. She understood now
why Lucian desired so passionately to escape from captivity. Indeed, if her
father had his way, Lucian would never again set foot outside this dungeon. He
would be entombed forever, just like William himself. And yet the prospect of
such a drastic ploy still filled her with dread.

“My father,” she warned him. “He will be watching you now more than ever.”

Lucian nodded solemnly. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “What about your
Death Dealers? Are there none you trust?”

She shook her head. The best and most faithful of her soldiers had died in the werewolves’ ambush, and for the rest… “Their
fear of Viktor is greater than their loyalty to me, unfortunately.”

Lucian took her at her word, accepting that she knew the ins and outs of the
soldiery better than he. He massaged his furrowed brow as he racked his brains
for another solution. Sonja could also think of no other recourse. There was
always Luka, of course, but Sonja was uncertain how far she could push the other
woman’s loyalty. Abetting a clandestine visit to the dungeons was one thing;
defying an Elder’s decree to liberate a condemned lycan was something else
altogether. She could hardly ask Luka to commit treason on her behalf.

Could she?

A sudden inspiration struck Lucian. “Tanis!”

What?
Sonja thought, startled by the suggestion.
That scheming toady?
For a moment, she feared that Lucian had taken leave of his senses. Tanis
was the very last person she would have thought of as a potential ally. “He
cannot be trusted.”

“No,” he agreed readily. “But Tanis knows about us.”

By the dark gods, no!
The shocking revelation hit her with the force
of a battering ram. She gasped out loud as a profound chill raced down her
spine. Her ivory face grew whiter still. Her jaw dropped and she struggled to
catch her breath. Her hand went to her chest, where her undead heart skipped a
beat. This was a disaster beyond reckoning. Lucian might as well have foretold
the end of the world. She whispered hoarsely.

“How?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted. “But if he still has not told your father, then it means he wants something. Find out what it is.”

Sonja nodded gravely. There was something to what Lucian said.
Tanis
cannot possibly have informed on us yet, or Lucian would not still be alive.
Nor would she have escaped her father’s wrath either; Sonja was unsure just how
severely she would be punished for her transgression, but surely her father
would not be able to overlook so grievous a violation of the Covenant. That she
was still free to move about the castle of her own volition, and not awaiting
the judgment of the Council, suggested that Tanis was indeed keeping his secrets
to himself. But what sort of game was the ambitious scribe playing?

And for what stakes?

The Great Hall awaited the arrival of the human nobles. Vampires, resplendent
in fine black silks and satins, lined the walls of the vast chamber and loitered
alongside the towering stone archways and pillars. Viktor sat proudly atop his
throne, while the High Council was seated to either side of the throne in two
rows of six chairs each. As ever, Tanis stood at the Elder’s left hand, his
quill poised to record the events for posterity. Flames crackled atop the
chandeliers and within wrought-iron braziers. Death Dealers were stationed at
every entrance. No lycans were in attendance; these festivities were not for
their eyes. A pair of large double doors barred the far end of the hall.

Viktor’s nails drummed impatiently upon the arm of his throne. Although the
rest of the Council was already in attendance, Sonja was missing as usual.
Damn that girl!
he
fumed.
Did I not expressly inform her that her presence was expected here?

He was about to send Tanis in search of her once more, when a rustle of
fabric heralded her tardy arrival. Sonja hastily took her place among the other
council members, to the right of the throne, as Viktor suppressed a sigh of
relief. Though she had tested his patience somewhat, he chose to take her
last-minute appearance as progress of a sort; that she had shown up at all was a
definite improvement over her recent acts of disobedience. Perhaps she had
finally taken his fatherly advice to heart?

A pity that I had to make an example of Lucian to remind her of her duty.

Furthermore, he was pleased to see that she had dressed appropriately. A rich
burgundy surcoat, draped over a gown of shimmering metallic mail, befitted her
regal status. A golden chain girded her slender waist. The crescent-shaped
pendant upon her bosom looked freshly polished. Viktor enjoyed a private joke as
he recalled the true significance of the pendant, which only a handful of living
souls suspected. Little did his daughter know that she wore the key to William’s
hidden prison around her neck.
Nor shall she ever know. Not even when she
becomes an Elder.

That secret belonged to Viktor alone.

Watching his daughter, he saw her glance across the room at Tanis.
Preoccupied with his clerical duties, the scribe failed to notice Sonja’s
interest and she quickly looked away.
Curious,
Viktor thought.
What
business could Sonja have with Tanis? I thought she despised him.

A bell tolled midnight, distracting Viktor from this latest mystery. He
decided that he had kept the mortals waiting long enough.

“Bring them in,” he commanded.

The ponderous doors creaked open and a fanfare of trumpets announced the
arrival of the delegation. A procession of middle-aged mortals entered the hall.
Unlike the vampires, who preferred garments of darker hue, the nobles were
bedecked in costly robes dyed in a variety of richly extravagant colors.
Voluminous quantities of fabric with fur trimmings attested to their prosperity.
Burnished metal badges proclaimed their rank and honors. They marched forward
two by two, carrying several heavy wooden chests between them. Acutely conscious
of their dignity, they struggled not to let their exertions show upon their
faces, even though many of them were visibly straining to support the caskets,
any one of which a vampire or lycan could have lifted with ease. Their heavy
tread echoed off the imposing stone walls. A few of the men glanced nervously at
the throng of vampires observing their entrance.

Good,
Viktor thought, pleased by the apparent weight of the chests.
That bodes well for the size of the tribute.

The nobles laid the cases before his throne. Once unlocked, their lids opened
to reveal an impressive accumulation of gleaming silver coins that shone like
moonlight. Each noble stood behind his own gift to his liege, save for one of
their number who appeared to have come empty-handed. Casmir Janosh, perhaps the
wealthiest of Viktor’s vassals, posed beside his fellow mortals, yet no treasure
chest rested before him. A portly man with a balding pate, he wore an olive-green robe over a white
linen tunic. His rotund proportions hardly bespoke poverty; he did not seem to
have missed any meals.

Viktor leaned forward in his throne. He gestured at the empty space at the
mortal’s feet. “Dear Janosh, do you not own the largest silver mine in these
lands?”

“It has been overrun, milord.” The negligent mortal stepped forward to
explain. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow and he tugged nervously on the
fur-lined collar of his robe. “Our workers… infected, turned to beasts!”

Viktor scowled at the news. William’s accursed spawn were growing bolder if
they dared to raid a
silver
mine. Or were they simply too crazed by
bloodlust to consider the threat posed by such a location? None of which excused
Janosh’s temerity in trying to shirk his feudal duties. How dare the man think
he could cheat the coven of its rightful due?

“Most unfortunate,” the Elder observed, “and costly.” He stroked his chin
thoughtfully before rendering a decision. “I think that half the rights to your
mine should cover the expense of our assistance.”

Janosh flushed with anger. Greed overcame his good sense. “Your assistance?
We all saw the funeral pyres on our way here. And where is our good friend,
Baron Covasha, and his family? Did you truly think that you could hide his
ghastly fate from us? The wolves are at your door as well!” Caught up in the
heat of the moment, he brazenly challenged Viktor in front of the other nobles.
“Why should I pay tribute when you cannot so much as protect your own house? You have bled me dry already!”

Assorted vampires snickered at the mortal’s unfortunate turn of phrase.

“Hardly,” Viktor replied.

Janosh blanched but declined to beg for the Elder’s mercy. No doubt he
realized that he had already gone too far to turn back now. He turned to his
fellow nobles for support.

“We have all heard the stories.” He pointed an accusing finger at Viktor. His
voice took on a more strident tone. “Look into his eyes. Cannot you see the evil
in them? The tales are true, this place is cursed!” His frantic gaze swept over
the entire coven. “They are no more human than the devils that invade our
lands!”

Many of the council members smirked in amusement, although Coloman and Sonja,
among others, did not seem to approve of the way this unfortunate drama was
playing out. The other humans looked increasingly uncomfortable. They averted
their eyes from the ranting nobleman and backed away from him as though he
carried the plague. The more devout of them fingered jeweled crosses and
crucifixes, clearly laboring under the mistaken belief that such superstitious
talismans could defend them against the undead. None spoke up in Janosh’s
defense.

He blanched as he saw that he was alone in his rebellion.

Viktor savored the man’s desperation. It seemed that Lucian was not the only
upstart who needed to be made an example of tonight. He rose from his throne and descended a short flight of steps to the floor of the hall. A sinister
smile slid across his face as he strode up to Janosh. The nobleman’s eyes darted
back and forth, as though searching for a way out, but there would be no escape
for him. No strategist, he had chosen his battleground poorly, and would now pay
the price for that fatal error in judgment.

“If devils you call us, rest assured…” Viktor seized the man’s neck with
one hand and physically lifted him from the floor. Janosh’s plump legs dangled
in the air. He choked as Viktor’s fist tightly squeezed his throat. Blood seeped
from beneath the Elder’s sharpened nails. Viktor mocked the thrashing nobleman
in his grip. “Better the devil you know.”

Janosh’s bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets. His ruddy face turned an
ugly shade of purple. He grabbed Viktor’s wrist with both hands but was unable
to pry the Elder’s powerful fingers from his throat. Fear showed in his eyes,
yet he strove to hide it still. Viktor almost admired his stubborn belligerence.

“U-unhand me!” he blustered.

“Certainly,” Viktor said.

With a sweep of his arm, he flung Janosh across the chamber. The noble’s
overfed body smacked into a granite column as though hurled by a catapult. His
bald pate cracked open like an egg. Chips of stone flew from the pillar. The
noble’s lifeless body crumpled to the floor with a satisfying thud. A crimson
trail streaked the damaged stone column, where a newly formed crater testified
to the force of the collision. Viktor’s mouth watered at the scent of freshly
spilled human blood. Excited vampires, their eyes aglow, licked their lips.

Some night soon,
Viktor thought,
when these present crises no longer
require my immediate attention, perhaps I will reward myself with a visit to one
of the neighboring villages.
Although the Covenant expressly forbade preying
on unwilling mortals, for fear of inciting a witchhunt that might consume them
all, Viktor had been known to quietly break this rule on occasion. Rank had its
privileges, after all, and Janosh’s demise had whetted his appetite for human
prey.
One cannot live on steer’s blood alone….