Blood Eternal (45 page)
The thought formed involuntarily in her head. She certainly didn’t expect a response. Yet a different voice said telepathically:
She’s come to help. We all have.
She’s come to help. We all have.
John Ramsay! Bloody hell!
Emotion bubbled out of her as laughter, and she raised her voice with triumph. “Good news, guys! The cavalry is here!
Now
we can do this!”
Emotion bubbled out of her as laughter, and she raised her voice with triumph. “Good news, guys! The cavalry is here!
Now
we can do this!”
For Cyn, the battle scene was a swirling, hacking, bloody mess that she could make no sense of. In the confusion, there was no way to tell who were the humans and who the vampires—except when they jumped. Yelling for Elizabeth had been a desperate attempt to find friends from enemies; but her joyous response lifted Cyn way beyond fear and indecision. Now they would make a difference.
They formed a wedge, as John had shown them, and fought their way toward Elizabeth. But it seemed the good guys were badly outnumbered, for a sudden, shocking attack from three sides broke up their wedge. Someone—she couldn’t tell who—fell to the ground, and then Cyn was fighting for her life without time to pay attention to anyone else. She used her feet with brutality and, finding an opening, staked the vampire to dust. Whirling, she found another leaping toward her, far too fast to be human, and raised her stake once more. Without warning, it was wrenched from her hands. The vampire ran past and she thrust backward with her second stake at the one who’d interfered. She hit something hard and unyielding, and spun to ram the stake home.
She faced a tall, dark vampire with coal black eyes tinged with amber flame. With desperation, she thrust the stake with all her might. The vampire brushed it aside as if it were a mildly annoying fly.
“Know thine enemy,” the vampire said dryly. “And protect the descendant.”
“Rudy?” she blurted, looking wildly around her. She’d forgotten the descendant stuff that made Rudy so valuable a kill. But the vampire had already turned away, literally bumping into John, who froze, staring at him while around them battle raged.
“You’re . . . you’re . . .” John stammered.
“Saloman,” said the vampire, and with a speed that blurred before Cyn’s eyes, he staked two vampires rushing on their little scene.
Saloman himself. The overlord of all the other monsters. “Oh, shit,” Cyn whispered, staring after his gracefully leaping body.
“It’s a vampire war!” John yelled. “We’re in the middle of a fucking civil war!”
Rudy and Cyn’s cavalry was making a difference. Through sheer numbers, they were splitting up the enemy more and giving everyone a better chance.
Fighting on with new hope, almost on autopilot, Elizabeth caught sight of István dangling from the top of a tall bookcase, on which stood Luk, surveying the scene below him like a general. It was a long way for István to “dreep”—drop safely to the ground—but, dividing her attention, Elizabeth saw he had no such intention. Finding a foothold, he simply climbed up the shelves until he could jump up beside Luk and attack.
“Elizabeth!” he yelled through the noise of the fight, and she realized what he meant to do. Alone, he couldn’t hope to kill Luk; but he could, possibly, push him off his perch for Elizabeth. Off balance, much as Mihaela had been, Luk would be an easier kill.
Luk laughed to see the hunter there, and Elizabeth began to get a bad feeling about this risky strategy. Worse, as she backed off from her latest opponent to do her bit, sharp pains prickled at her chest and sides, growing ever stronger, and it came to her that István was already hurt. It was there in his stiff movement, as he dodged Luk’s swinging foot and parried the thrust of his sword. István was incredibly brave; she already knew that, but she’d never regarded him as foolhardy before.
He couldn’t do this alone. Elizabeth reached for the shelves with one hand, glancing behind her to check on the battle’s progress. Luk must have issued some telepathic order, for all his remaining vampires were disengaging and homing in on one target: Saloman.
“Oh, shit,” Elizabeth whispered. Together they could weaken him, let enough of his blood for Luk to kill him. The hunters, baffled by the sudden maneuver, began to harry the vampires, but as they formed a circle around Saloman, each fighting a hunter with one hand and Saloman with the other, the damage was already being done.
Leaping back from the bookcase, she saw that István was employing a simple and possibly even effective measure, simply charging his damaged body into Luk’s, too close for the sword to do much harm. Too close to the Ancient’s teeth as well, but for the moment, he seemed to be avoiding that danger by coming in low.
Elizabeth hesitated no longer. Leaving István’s bizarre battle for later, she ran to the circle surrounding Saloman. Dmitriu and Maximilian were there already, fighting side by side with the hunters. So was Rudy and Cyn’s little group, although it was doubtful whether they knew why—they were simply trying to kill vampires, and for the moment that was enough.
Elizabeth’s run felt like a battle charge. She even heard her voice yelling as she targeted her prey and leapt on him, killing the vampire instantly, more from surprise than skill. It gave Dmitriu next to her an extra opening to break through to Saloman’s side, and the circle began to break.
Another fell under Saloman’s merciless stake and, satisfied for the moment, Elizabeth sprinted back to István’s struggle with Luk.
Luk teetered on the edge of the bookcase, locked in a grotesque embrace with István. It looked bad for the vampire, but even as Elizabeth ran to perform her part of István’s plan, she realized with dread that Luk was laughing.
With a movement so sudden it blurred, he hauled István upward and sank his teeth into the hunter’s throat. István continued to push, knowing, surely, that he would fall with Luk. An instant later, under Elizabeth’s terrified gaze, Luk straightened, lifted the hunter high in his arms, and hurled him to the floor like a gnawed chicken bone.
István landed at Elizabeth’s feet with a sickening crack.
The only scream she heard was her own as she fell to her knees beside him. Somewhere, she was aware of Luk jumping over their heads to land in the middle of the library floor, and the sudden flurry of movement as Saloman and the others homed in for the endgame; but what she chiefly felt was the agony of grief and her own guilt.
István’s eyes were open and, astonishingly, he wasn’t dead, for his eyelids flickered.
“István,” she whispered. “Oh, God, István . . . Can you hear me? Where are you hurt?”
His eyes focused with obvious difficulty on her face, and she knew where he hurt. All over. The pain hit her like a wall in a high-speed car crash. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t move; nausea and dizziness flooded her, threatening unconsciousness. She fought it back, grasping István’s helpless hand in utter pity for the pain of his cracked skull, his broken bones and ribs, and the weakness of his lost blood.
“I’m sorry, so sorry!” she exclaimed. She should have stayed with him, not given in at the wrong moment to her love for Saloman, who could, after all, take care of himself. Wrong decision this time. “Oh, God, no one should suffer this pain, István; I’d take it from you if I could. . . .”
István said, “I don’t feel any pain.” He sounded confused by this. “Have we won?”
Won? Who could possibly have won in this maelstrom of agony? She couldn’t bear it. Her own voice filled her ears, crying out as wave after wave of pain engulfed her and grew, expanding and intensifying until there was nothing else. The staring faces of vampires from both sides, Mihaela’s closer and white with fear, faded into black horror. And still it grew, whatever it was, hurling emotional and physical hurts so deep she wept in agony with them.
You couldn’t fight destiny. This, then, was where all the prophecies led and ended for her. And there was no time, no more time. . . . Saloman’s beloved face swam in front of her, wide-eyed with shock. She managed to grasp his arm and hold on, tried to speak, to tell him she loved him before she died. But the blackness took her too soon.
Chapter Twenty-one
I
t was sheer temper tantrum that caused Luk to throw the Hungarian hunter down like that, still alive and yet injured beyond repair. Saloman recognized it, because like Luk, he knew the battle was almost won. Only the outcome of the inevitable duel between the Ancients could change things now, and Saloman did not intend to lose.
t was sheer temper tantrum that caused Luk to throw the Hungarian hunter down like that, still alive and yet injured beyond repair. Saloman recognized it, because like Luk, he knew the battle was almost won. Only the outcome of the inevitable duel between the Ancients could change things now, and Saloman did not intend to lose.
As Elizabeth fell to her knees by the wounded hunter, Luk leapt off the bookcase to rejoin their interrupted duel.
There was a certain sense of déjà vu about fighting an angry, defiant Luk. He was still powerful and dangerous and more insane than ever, and still his friend, whom he must put out of his own misery before he caused any more for the world. Insanity was a blessing for him. A sane Luk would crumble with shame at what he had done in his rage. Saloman laid all that aside. It was tomorrow’s pain. Tonight, he had a duty that he would not shirk.
He had no option but to defeat and kill Luk. If Luk killed Saloman, thus finally gaining the power of his true Awakener, he would be unstoppable and the world’s sufferings would be unimaginable. Everyone present must know that.
As his sword met Luk’s, Saloman knew a sense of relief. It was almost over, and he could fight almost on instinct alone. And it would be a good fight. In his day, Luk had been the best. The tempo increased quickly, far beyond the speed the other vampires could achieve, and well beyond what the humans could easily see. Steel clashed on steel; stakes whizzed through the air; their bodies leapt and evaded, spun and thrust.
Because Luk was tired and not troubling to mask anything anymore, Saloman could sense when he tried to summon another fireball. He could even block it, although the distraction earned him a deep slice across the knuckles. Saloman licked them hastily to speed the healing process, leaping back as if to disengage and then, as Luk sensed the kill, plunging the stake straight at his cousin’s heart.
It was Elizabeth’s cry that froze them all in midfight. Penetrating the crashing, yelling mayhem like a knife through flesh, its preternatural, bloodcurdling agony seemed to paralyze everyone. Saloman’s stake paused against Luk’s heart. Luk’s sword, already poised to strike Saloman’s head, stilled. All around him, Saloman was aware, the fighting stopped in shock.
Elizabeth!
Ignoring the still very real danger from Luk, Saloman turned his back on his enemy and ran to her.
She knelt by István’s side, holding the hunter’s hand in both of hers. Tears streamed down her face, which was contorted in agony. She didn’t even appear to be aware of the noise she made. Her arm and hand were bloody from some wound, no doubt painful but hardly enough to account for her obviously unbearable suffering.
“What’s the matter with her?” Mihaela demanded, her voice too high with fear. “Saloman, I can’t make her hear me!”
Crouching down beside Mihaela, he took Elizabeth’s twisted, openmouthed face between his hands. Her pain-racked eyes seemed to focus on him. To his relief, her hand gripped his arm tight, as if holding on to her one salvation. Her lips moved, trying to speak. And then her eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped against him.
“Elizabeth!” Mihaela screamed.
At the same time, István whispered her name with a wonder that drew Saloman’s stunned attention. István knew.
The Hungarian’s gaze was riveted to Elizabeth’s head, and despite his horrific injuries, there was no pain in those intelligent gray eyes. Saloman glanced at his own injured hand. It should be healing, but there was no sign now that any wound had ever been there.
A cut on Mihaela’s cheek closed up as he watched it. Twisting around with Elizabeth still in his arms, Saloman watched the wounded vampires rise to their feet, saw Lazar touch his head as if surprised it didn’t hurt.
Something like a wind seemed to blow through Saloman, lifting him and making him shiver at the same time.
“Elizabeth,” he whispered. “My Elizabeth.”
“What is it?” Mihaela demanded harshly. “Is she dead?”
Saloman smiled and stroked the beloved head.
“No,” he said. “She isn’t dead. She’s a healer who’s come into her gift and can’t control it. She’s taken all our pain into herself and caused much of the healing to begin. It rampaged out of control, as if she’s taking on not just our pain but the world’s.”
“But she can’t do that,” Dmitriu said. “She’ll die.”
“No, she won’t,” Saloman said softly, reaching into her mind to soothe and block what she couldn’t yet bear or manage. “No, she won’t.”
“Saloman,” Maximilian warned, and he realized that Luk, who’d completely slipped his mind, was looming over him. He grabbed his dropped stake from some leftover battle instinct. Maximilian and Dmitriu stood on either side of Luk, holding their own stakes to his front and back.
Luk didn’t appear to notice. His intense gaze was fixed on Elizabeth, or rather on the tableau of Elizabeth in Saloman’s arms.
“The world is reborn,” he intoned, in the voice of the visionary Saloman well remembered. “All is changed, and Saloman’s dominant power eclipsed in this union that was always meant to be. The world shatters and forms again, never the same. The hour of the vampire is at hand and the world will be safe.”
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