04 - Rise of the Lycans (32 page)

Would nothing end their undying reign of terror?

Then a host of howling lycans, led by an enormous black werewolf, burst from
the front gate of the keep. Moon shackles, clamped around the throats of the
lycans, identified them as the caged slaves Lucian had dispatched Raze to
liberate. Peering gratefully at the hulking wolf commanding the escapees, Lucian
realized that Raze had finally shed the last vestiges of his mortality. His
heart surged with pride.

What a werewolf he had become!

Armed with stolen swords, axes, and picks, the freed slaves charged into the
rear of the Death Dealers, breaking their ranks. Raze lifted a squirming vampire
above his head and flung him into the inner wall of the fortress. The impact
cratered the granite wall, sending rocky chips flying amidst a cloud of powdered
stone and mortar. A crimson stain defaced the masonry as the vampire’s crushed body slid lifelessly on the pavement.

Viktor whirled in surprise, caught off guard by the second wave of lycans.
His blue eyes bulged behind his skull-like mask. He faltered and looked about in
confusion, as though realizing for the first time that he might actually lose
this conflict. Lucian wondered if the haughty Elder finally knew what fear
tasted like.

If not, Lucian was ready to introduce him to the sensation. Their eyes met
across the teeming battlefield. The rest of the war, with all its noise and
grisly spectacle, receded from his consciousness as his primal senses locked
onto his immortal enemy. All he saw now was Viktor—Sonja’s murderer—caught in
his sights. His fist tightened on the hilt of his sword. His unwavering eyes
narrowed to vengeful blue slits.

No one had ever slain an Elder before. Not man, beast, nor vampire.

There’s a first time for everything,
Lucian thought.

He strode relentlessly toward his prey.

The hideous tumult of war penetrated even the many subterranean levels
separating Tanis from the carnage in the courtyard. Tanis shivered beneath his
robe as he stood upon a rickety wooden landing atop a forgotten staircase buried
deep within the heart of the mountain. The inky waters of an underground river
lapped against a slimy stone dock at the bottom of the steps. Reflected
torchlight cast rippling shadows onto the walls of the cavern. Luminous green
algae clung to damp limestone walls. Jagged stalactites hung above the nervous
scribe’s head like the fabled Sword of Damocles. Roosting bats rustled in shadows. A
shame I can’t turn into a bat as the mortals
suppose,
he lamented,
else I’d fly away from here as fast as my leathery
wings could carry me.

Alas, that fanciful notion was nothing but a superstitious myth.

His sweaty hands tugged on a rusty chain as he struggled with a complex
block-and-tackle system hanging from the ceiling. At the other end of the chain,
suspended above the murky waters below, was a polished brass sarcophagus
engraved with intricate cabalistic runes. An ornate capital
A
was embossed upon
the head of the heavy metal coffin. Tanis strained to hold the sarcophagus
steady as he carefully lowered the casket into the ebony skiff waiting many feet
below. The boat, cleverly stored beneath the castle for just such an emergency,
was moored to the dimly lit pier. Tanis heard it bump gently against the dock.

The chain slipped through his fingers, causing the hanging sarcophagus to
drop precipitously for a few inches before he got it back under control.
Straining to support the coffin’s weight, he slowed its descent to a more
prudent pace.

Forgive me for disturbing you, Lady Amelia,
he thought.
Viktor’s orders.

Slumbering in their tombs, oblivious to the tempestuous events raging above
them, the hibernating Elders were obviously vulnerable to the werewolves’
shocking attack. Tanis well understood why Viktor thought it best to have them
moved to a safer location. He just wished that this nerve-wracking responsibility
had fallen upon anyone else.

Remind me never again to make a bargain with a lycan,
he thought bitterly. Conspiring to free Lucian from his cell had been the
worst mistake Tanis had ever committed in centuries of intricate scheming and
politicking.
I’ll be lucky I don’t end up exiled for life after this debacle.

He let out a sigh of relief as Amelia’s coffin came to rest within the skiff.
He held onto the chain for a few more moments, just to make sure the boat didn’t
capsize, then scuttled down the stairs to where the skiff was waiting. Marcus’
sarcophagus, as well as Viktor’s empty coffin, were already loaded onto the
boat. Stylized initials distinguished their coffins from Amelia’s. The skiff
rocked unnervingly as Tanis clambered aboard. The sluggish current of the hidden
river coursed past its hull. A hanging lantern illuminated the pier as he
scrambled to fit a pair of painted black oars into their locks. His trembling
fingers required three attempts before he got the oars properly in place. He
wiped the cold sweat from his brow, then hurried to make certain the sarcophagi
were secure.

After all, he didn’t want their coffins to topple over into the river.

Despite the mayhem all around him, Lucian kept Viktor in sight as he fought
his way toward the Elder. Faceless Death Dealers fell before his sword, but the
butchered vampires made no impression on his mind; they were merely inconvenient
obstacles between him and his true prey. Lucian trampled over their sundered
bodies. If he had his way, Viktor would not long outlive his martyred daughter
and grandchild.

Your bloodline ends tonight,
Lucian swore upon Sonja’s memory.
By my
hand.

Only yards away from Viktor, however, Captain Sandor leapt into his path. The
officer’s determined face made it clear that he intended to defend his lord to
the end. Lucian almost admired the indefatigable guardsman’s devotion to his
duty, not that this made his intrusion any less infuriating. If Sandor wanted to
throw away his immortality for the sake of the Elder, Lucian would be happy to
oblige him.

Eschewing swordplay, Sandor raised a crossbow and fired it directly at the
lycan’s face. The bolt leaped from the bow, whistling through the mist like one
of Sonja’s silver throwing stars, but Lucian had had enough of being perforated
by the Death Dealers’ toxic missiles. Just as he had during Viktor’s test two
centuries before, Lucian snatched the quarrel from the air only inches from his
face. Two more bolts flew from the weapon’s triple bows, only to be deflected by
Lucian’s flashing sword. The misdirected quarrels went flying off to the side,
eliciting a gasp of disbelief from Sandor. The horrified vampire gaped at
Lucian’s lightning-fast reflexes. Snatching another arrow from his quiver, he
hastily tried to reload the crossbow, but Lucian was even faster. Flipping the
captured missile in his hand, he flung it back at Sandor with all his strength.
The bolt sank deep into the captain’s forehead. Blood flooded his eyes. The
crossbow dropped onto the cobblestones. A death rattle gurgled from his throat.

Lucian did not even wait for Sandor’s body to hit the pavement before shoving
it aside. Enough with these petty skirmishes. He wanted Viktor, not his endless myrmidons. But a growl of
frustration burst from his lips as he reached the blood-soaked spot where the
malevolent Elder had stood only moments before. He looked in vain for the
elusive object of his hatred.
Show yourself, Viktor!
he raved inwardly.
Face me like a man!
But Sonja’s father was nowhere to be seen.

Coloman and the rest of the coven huddled within the Great Hall, listening
anxiously to the cataclysmic battle being waged outside in the courtyard.
Ashen-faced courtiers and their ladies cowered around the edges of the spacious
chamber. Sobbing courtesans and concubines hid behind the looming marble
columns, their filmy black apparel offering little protection against the
razor-sharp claws and fangs of the marauding monsters outside. Only the bolted
oak doors at the entrance of the hall stood between them and the fearsome
reckoning that had descended upon Castle Corvinus.

The wolves are at our very door,
Coloman thought.
Just as I warned Viktor!

He had never been so dismayed to be proven right.

Along with the remainder of the Council, he stood alongside Viktor’s empty throne. They strove to present an image of strength
and confidence to their terrified flock, albeit with mixed results. Orsova
chewed nervously on her lacquered nails, until blood dripped from her mangled
cuticles. Count Ulrik looked as if he was ready to bolt from the chamber at any
moment. As though there was anyplace to hide from the beastly invaders! The very
walls that had guarded the keep for so long now trapped the coven inside the
fortress with their ancient enemies. And even if they were to escape the castle,
where were they to flee? Into the very wilderness that sheltered the werewolves?

There was no escape for them. They could only pray that Viktor and his Death
Dealers could defend them as they always had before. Alas, the horrific screams
and ferocious roars emanating from without did little to suggest that such
desperate prayers would be answered; from the ghastly sound of things, the
battle was going badly against them. Glancing about the crowded hall, Coloman
saw that many vampires, who had long ago discarded their mortal faith, were now
feverishly crossing themselves and calling upon the mercy of a God they had not
thought of for many human lifetimes. He caught Ulrik doing the same.

For himself, Coloman fought an irrational urge to rush to the crypt and
awaken Marcus. As much as he craved his patron’s protection, however, he realized
it was too late to revive the other Elders. Neither Marcus nor Amelia would have
time to recover from their long slumber before the wolves were upon them all;
newly roused from generations of fasting, they would rise at first as withered
mummies, lacking the strength to rescue the coven from the nightmarish calamity that had befallen them.
Damn
the Chain,
he thought. For the first time in his long existence, he
questioned the wisdom of having only one Elder above the ground in any given
century.
Now more than ever we need the oldest and strongest of us all!

A pounding at the doors caused him to jump backward in fright, bumping
into Viktor’s throne. A petrified hush erupted into a cacophony of hysterical
shrieks and exclamations. Clinging to an equally distraught maidservant, Luka
screamed for Sonja to save her from beyond the grave. Coloman had no sympathy
for the fear-crazed lady-in-waiting; it was said that she had conspired with the
treacherous noblewoman on more than one occasion. He glared murderously at the
flaxen-haired vampires, who had played a fatal role in their undoing. Did she
even realize that her misguided loyalty to Sonja might have doomed them all?

He was tempted to rip her throat out himself.

The double doors buckled beneath the force of the blows. Blood-chilling roars
and howls left no doubt as to the identity of the besiegers.
Where are the
Death Dealers?
Coloman thought truculently.
Why aren’t they here to
protect us?

The wooden bolt holding the doors shut snapped in twain. The doors crashed
open, revealing a pack of slathering werewolves on the threshold. Pandemonium
descended on the hall as the beasts invaded the sanctuary. The elegant vampires
ran like frightened rabbits but could not outrace the rampaging creatures, who
fell upon the coven with predatory glee. Antique furniture was toppled and
reduced to debris in the wolves’ riotous hunt. Refined lords and ladies were ripped to shreds, along with
their expensive silk garments. The nubile flesh of the courtesans was strewn
across the floor. Werewolves raced on all fours along the walls and ceilings,
dropping like avenging angels upon the fleeing vampires. Blood spattered the
hanging tapestries. Gobbets of raw meat flew from the roaring jaws of the
triumphant monsters.

What did we ever do to deserve this?
Coloman thought. Was there something
the Council might have done to avert the catastrophe?
Were we too hard on the
lycans—or too soft?

Hiding behind Viktor’s throne, Coloman gazed in fascinated horror at what
seemed the end of the world. Hissing like a cat, Luka leapt onto the ceiling and
hung there upside-down, clinging to the stoneworks by her claws, while she bared
her own fangs at the frenzied pack, even as her abandoned maidservant
disappeared down the gullet of a hungry wolf. Luka’s defiance failed to spare
her, though, as another werewolf launched itself from the floor and ripped her
from her perch with its bloody paws. She crashed screaming to the floor, where a
third wolf joined in devouring her. Her perfidy came to an end amidst a fountain
of blood and viscera.

Nor was the Council spared by the conquering wolves. Orsova tore open her own
wrists with her teeth, choosing to end her own life rather than fall prey to
their enemies. Drawing a dagger from his belt, Ulrik tried to emulate her
example by stabbing himself in the heart, but could not bring himself to do more
than prick his chest before an attacking wolf ripped his arm from its socket. Bright arterial blood spurted from his shoulder.

The crimson spray struck Coloman in the face, blinding him. He wiped the
blood from his eyes, only to find a ravening werewolf glaring down at him from
atop Viktor’s throne. The beast’s cobalt eyes regarded him hungrily. Drool
dripped onto Coloman’s upraised face. A length of flaxen hair was caught between
its teeth.

Please,
the trembling boyar pleaded silently.
You don’t understand. In
the Council, I often pleaded for leniency for your kind. I’m on your side….