04 - Rise of the Lycans (11 page)

Hold on, Sonja!
he pleaded silently. His heart pounded in his chest.
I’m coming!

Sonja spun Hecate about as yet another of the guards’ horses went down with a
sickening thud. The rider—Blasko by name—tumbled to the ground as well, landing
in a heap of flailing limbs and dented metal. His drawn sword flew from his
fingers. Swearing profanely, he groped urgently for his weapon.

Bloody claws, rising up from the earth, tore at the downed horse’s leg. Sonja
stared at the carnage in shock, finally grasping what was happening all around her.
By the sacred
blood of Corvinus, the werewolves are attacking us from below!

Screams escaped the toppled carriage. Intent on defending the trapped
mortals, Sonja tugged on Hecate’s reins, reeling the horse around so that she
was facing the coach. She drew her silver-plated sword just as, like a nightmare
come to life, a berserk werewolf landed on the armored roof of the carriage. The
beast grabbed the shrieking driver with two hairy forepaws and plucked him from
his seat as easily as it might lift a child’s doll. Before Sonja could come to
the mortal’s aid, the werewolf hurled the driver to the ground, where the man’s
skull shattered like an eggshell, spilling his brains onto the muddy earth. A
crimson halo pooled around his head. He was killed instantly.

She suspected that he might be one of the lucky ones.

The beast was not alone. More werewolves dropped from the trees, attacking
the carriage and its defenders. Their barbaric howls competed with the
high-pitched screams coming from both the coach and the blindfolded slaves, as
well as the pitiful wails of the crippled horses. Chains rattled as the
terrified prisoners tugged uselessly at their bonds. They couldn’t even see what
was attacking them, only hear the growls of the monsters.

“Take your positions!” Sonja shouted over the din.

Her Death Dealers surged into action. They rallied around the fearless
noblewoman, both on foot and on horseback. Ivan and Blasko staggered to their
feet, while the remaining horsemen charged into battle. A werewolf lunged from the forest, tackling a mounted warrior named Erzsi and
knocking her to the ground. Roaring, the beast slashed at her armor with
daggerlike claws. Blood spurted from torn flesh and metal. Erzsi screamed her
last.

The battle had only begun, Sonja realized, and they were already losing. Hot
lycan blood sprayed across her face as she hacked and stabbed at the nearest
creature. There was no time to recover her helmet; she had only her body armor
and sword to defend her.

That would have to be enough.

The first werewolf dug his claws into the roof of the carriage. Tortured
metal squealed in protest as the monster peeled back a sheet of heavy armor
plating….

“…we beseech Thee, O Lord, that in the hour of our death we may be
refreshed by Thy holy Sacraments and delivered from all guilt and so deserve to
be received with joy into the arms of Thy tender mercy….”

Inside the carriage, Natalya’s parents prayed in unison as all the Powers of
Darkness seemed to descend on them from without. Her mother’s embroidery lay
forgotten upon the floor, along with her father’s parchments. Her mother’s
fingers clutched her rosary beads, which a returning Crusader had sworn were
carved from pieces of the True Cross. Her father had paid a small fortune for
the beads, much good they were doing them now. Father’s head was bowed in
prayer. Mother’s chubby face was white as a ghost. Blood leaked from a cut on her father’s brow, sustained when the carriage had
tilted abruptly on its side. Natalya’s own bones still ached from the jolt. A
bump throbbed at the back of her head. The glass lantern was cracked across its
face.

“…though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we will fear
no evil. Please, God, deliver our souls from the clutches of the Evil One….”

Her parents’ fervent orisons did nothing to alleviate the girl’s terror. She
was only sixteen. She was too young to die. She had never even kissed a boy yet!

“Father…” In the past, whenever her childish imagination had turned
shadows in the nursery into lurking specters, her father had always been there
to drive her fears away. His warm and comforting presence had been enough to
keep the ogres at bay. But one look at his ashen features quickly informed her
that she could expect no such deliverance tonight. Against real monsters, he was
as helpless as any other man.

The candle sputtered out, leaving them trapped in the dark.

No!
she despaired.
This can’t be happening!

A wrenching noise came from beyond. Moonlight invaded the carriage, followed
by the head of an enormous wolf! A deafening roar filled the darkness. Foam
sprayed from immense jaws that snapped wildly at those inside. The beast’s rank
breath was as hot as Perdition.

Mother dived for the floor, but Natalya froze in place, too petrified to
move. Memories of Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf flashed through her brain. She couldn’t look away
from the creature’s cobalt eyes and gleaming white fangs. Its jaws opened wide.

The better to eat you with, my dear….

The werewolf lunged at the girl, but at the last minute, Father shoved her
out of the way. She tumbled onto the floor beside her mother, even as her father
thrust his body between the monster and his family. The slathering jaws closed
on his head and shoulders with a nauseating crunch. Blood splattered the
luxurious interior of the wrecked carriage. A headless body dropped onto the
embroidered seat cushions.

Father!

Cowering on the floor, while her mother feverishly prayed for their souls,
Natalya suddenly remembered the expensive damask gown packed away in her
luggage. She had spent hours selecting the fabric for the gown with which she
had intended the dazzle the fine gentlemen of Lord Viktor’s court. The finest
seamstress in the village had tailored the dress especially for her.

How tragic that she would never get to wear it.

The battle was still raging when Lucian rode out of the fog into the heat of
the conflict. A scene of utter chaos and carnage greeted his eyes, which swiftly
took in the stranded carriage, downed horses, and embattled Death Dealers. He
saw at once that the vampires were badly outnumbered. He counted at least a
dozen werewolves, with who knew how many more lurking in the trees and
undergrowth. His grip tightened on the hilt of his stolen sword. Searching
desperately for Sonja, he did not immediately spy his love. He cursed the fog and shadows for hiding
her from him.

Where are you, Sonja? Let me know you’re still alive!

Directly in front of him, an injured Death Dealer was fighting a losing
battle against two rabid werewolves, who had him backed up against the mutilated
body of his horse. The overwhelmed vampire slashed at one wolf with his sword,
while the second wolf snapped at his legs. Mud and gore smeared the knight’s
dented armor. One arm hung limply at his side. His sword was broken. The
truncated blade was barely the length of a dagger.

Lucian hesitated for only an instant. Although there was little love lost
between him and Viktor’s soldiers, they needed every ally they could spare if
any of them hoped to survive this bloodbath. Racing headlong down the road, he
leapt from the horse and tackled the nearest monster as if it were a runaway
hog. Lycan and werewolf crashed to earth together. Rolling away from the beast,
he jumped to his feet and raised his sword. He gripped the hilt with both hands
as he swung the blade at the other werewolf’s throat. The blade sliced through
tough meat and muscle, nearly severing the werewolf’s head from its shoulders. A
scarlet trail streamed behind the sword like the tail of a comet.

Lucian’s brown eyes turned cobalt blue. A fierce growl filled his ears.

It took him a second to realize that the growl was coming from his own
throat.

Unable to see a thing because of the thrice-damned hood over his head, Raze
could only listen to the nightmarish clamor all around him. Once an accomplished warrior and hunter, he
recognized the unmistakable sounds and smells of strife. The screams of the
dying warred with the roaring of beasts. The air reeked of blood and fear.

Death is upon us.

His fellow prisoners thrashed and screamed like maniacs, tugging so hard on
their chains that Raze had to struggle to keep his balance. They pulled in all
directions, getting nowhere fast. At the head of the line, just behind the
carriage, Raze planted his feet on the muddy ground, anchoring himself to the
earth. He wasn’t about to be yanked blindly into the clutches of whatever
creatures were assailing the caravan.

Not while he still had an ounce of strength in his body!

Despite his nightmarish situation, he refused to panic. He was the son of a
sultan and he would not disgrace his ancestors by being slaughtered as easily as
a frightened antelope brought down by a lion. His wits were his only weapons
now. He would die on his feet if he had to, while looking his killer bravely in
the face.

But first he had to get rid of this stinking hood!

Bending his thick neck toward his bound hands, he managed to snag the top of
the hood with his fingertips. He held on tightly to the coarse fabric and yanked
his head back. His heart leapt in excitement as his skull slipped free of the
hood for the first time in hours. A smooth brown dome crowned his solid
features. A short black beard carpeted his chin. He filled his lungs with the fresh night air. Shrewd brown eyes rapidly assessed the ghastly
massacre being waged around him.

It was even worse than he had imagined.

Before his eyes, only a few yards away, a knight in black plate armor was
dragged down from his horse by a monstrous black wolf the size of a mountain
gorilla. Raze saw at once that the creatures attacking the caravan were no
ordinary wolves; many of them walked erect like men and stood even taller than
Raze himself.
Werewolves,
he realized, recalling eerie tales told by the
other slaves while they huddled together at night. It was said that these
inhuman predators had once been mortal men….

Sprawled upon his back, the fallen knight flailed at the werewolf with his
fists, but his blows smacked impotently against the monster’s snout. Jagged
fangs punched through metal as the wolf ripped the soldier’s arm from its socket.
Bright arterial blood sprayed from the victim’s shoulder, splattering Raze and
the other prisoners. Violent death throes rattled the knight’s useless armor as
the werewolf tore him apart limb by limb. His horse stampeded away, only to be
brought down by two more werewolves. The charger’s frantic whinnies were cut off
abruptly.

The knight’s blood felt surprisingly cold against Raze’s face, more like the
blood of a dead man—or an
obayifo
—than a living warrior. He reached to
wipe it away, but the iron manacles weighed down his hands. Thick links of chain
still bound him to the back of the carriage, making it impossible to fight back
or flee. Although the werewolves seemed to be concentrating on the armed guards at the moment, Raze knew that it was only a matter of time
before they feasted on the slaves as well. Chained, he didn’t stand a chance
against the bloodthirsty pack. Only with his hands free could he defend himself
to the death.

The empty hood dropped from his fingers. Clenching his teeth, he took hold of
one of the chains with both hands and pulled with all his might….

Flattened against the floor of the carriage, Natalya and her mother clung to
each other as they whimpered in terror. The wolf at the roof snapped and
snarled, straining to squeeze its shaggy bulk through the gap in the armor. Its
claws scraped against the stubborn metal. Drenched in her father’s blood,
Natalya squeezed her eyes shut and wondered how much it hurt to be eaten alive.
Had her father suffered before he died, or had the wolf’s powerful jaws killed
him as swiftly as a headsman’s ax? Natalya sobbed piteously. Her mother’s endless
prayers fell on empty ears. Tears streamed from her eyes. What mattered if she
died unshriven? They were already in hell.

Where are the Death Dealers?
she thought.
Why aren’t they saving us?

The entire coach rocked back and forth, like a ship tossed about upon a
stormy sea, as another monster slammed into the side of the carriage again and
again. A painted yellow wall bulged inward, wooden planks splintering loudly.
The treasure chest slid across the floor, slamming into the maiden’s side hard
enough to bruise her ribs. Mother pulled Natalya under her, sheltering the girl with her own well-fed body. Her blood-soaked wimple had come
loose, exposing graying blond hair. The string of rosary beads broke apart. The
precious relics rolled and bounced over the quaking floor.

Another titanic blow shook the coach. Steel and timber buckled as the head
and shoulders of a
second
werewolf smashed its way into the carriage.
Canine jaws clamped down on Natalya’s mother and tore her away from the girl.
The wolf shook the older woman’s body back and forth while more blood painted
the interior of the carriage incarnadine.

Suddenly an orphan, Natalya was all alone in the dark.

Sonja was the last vampire still astride a horse. The rest of the Death
Dealers had already been yanked to the ground. Her sword cut a bloody swath
before her. A crimson stream gushed down the gutter of her double-edged blade.
Hecate reared up, striking out at the swarming werewolves with her steel-shod
hooves. But for every creature Sonja struck down, two more seemed to burst from
the swirling mist. Her azure eyes glowed like balefire.

Was there no end to these creatures?

A heart-wrenching scream called her attention back to the besieged carriage.
Squinting through the grisly haze of battle, she spied a werewolf clinging to
the side of the coach. Another beast crouched upon the roof. Ruptured steel
plates suggested the carriage’s passengers were in mortal peril, if not already
dead. Sonja remembered the innocent mortal girl she had smiled at before. She prayed that
she was not too late to save her.