Keystone (Gatewalkers) (21 page)

Master Dragus lifted his staff, intoning a chant of seeking. It was all a performance for the captain’s benefit. Rhys felt no searching spells nor magical prodding of any kind. The vampire mage slowly circled around Rhys, continuing to chant.
 

Quashing his instincts, Rhys feigned disinterest, though the proximity of another vampire called his blood to action.

Master Dragus chuckled, breaking off his chant. “Captain Meryl, this man is no more mage than you are,” he lied smoothly, and Rhys knew he was the one who set the truth spell. Otherwise Meryl would have felt it. “If you will permit me, I believe he will answer to my methods.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed, but a master mage outranked him. Meryl left the tent, the guards following behind, but not without a final disapproving glance at Rhys.

Rhys’ upper lip curled into a snarl. With Meryl gone he need not hide that he knew what Dragus was.
 

Dragus’ smile did not touch his eyes. “Aren’t you an interesting individual? I must say that I am astonished that our guild recruiters never found such a powerful native talent. Or did you decide to… hm, ‘free lance’
after
you joined the ranks of the Night People?”

Powerful vampiric mind magic wrapped around Rhys, prodding to elicit an answer. Far more powerful than it should have been, given how well fed Dragus was. He felt more like a natural born than one bitten, but Rhys knew that to be impossible.
 

Rhys pushed back and clamped down on his tongue, drawing blood. Rhys felt a measure of personal satisfaction that he was able to do so.

Dragus’ nostrils flared. “You
have
had a modicum of training, I see,” Dragus said, greed mingling with something darker.

Rhys’ snarl deepened.
No thanks to you.
He considered a reply, but with the pressure of the other vampire’s mind pushing for answers, silence was best.

“We have a place for
talents
such as yourself,” Dragus said.

Rhys chanced speech. “The good captain might have words to say about welcoming a mercenary to his ranks.”

All traces of Dragus’ faint smile vanished. “A place among those who hunt the night. Our brethren. In these very mountains there is one who has great ambitions for the future of Seinne Sonne. A future in which we may live openly as rulers of the night.”

These very mountains, where Mae’s guards were found slaughtered. Coincidence? Doubtful.

“Would these ambitions,” Rhys gritted out, pushing harder against the mind magic with his own, “include the fate of Princess Maelyn?”

Dragus smirked. Rhys felt a white hot ball of anger flare in his chest. This man betrayed Mae and her guards to a massacre.
 

“Are you the one who stole the Keystone from its vault?” The vault that could only be accessed through a door in the great hall of the palace in Iomara. The heart of Seinne Sonne, mere feet from High King Edouard’s throne.

“Steal it? Oh, no. I am no thief.” Dragus flashed his fangs. “I merely found a way to slip past its defenses.”

Did he expect Rhys to be impressed?

An even worse thought struck Rhys through the heart. Dragus had been moving within circles of power for decades. How long had is loyalties been for sale? Had his efforts to have Rhys locked away been more than simply personal conviction? Could Dragus have gone so far as to arrange Rhys’ “accidental” encounter with a pack of natural born vampires?

“Tell me,” Rhys said, his voice flat calm despite the building heat of his molten anger. “Are you the one whose ambitions would change the fate of Seinne Sonne?” He needed information before he could exact revenge. Not for his own sake. Not even for the princess. This man’s actions threatened the safety of every man, woman and child in the kingdom of Seinne Sonne. Rhys did not know if the damage could be
 
repaired, but he must try.

Rhys saw something flicker behind Dragus’ expression. “No. Not I.” Dragus leaned close to Rhys’ face, and he had to fight not to snap his teeth at the man. “The man who should be our sovereign.”

Rhys felt a prickling along his spine. “Of whom do you speak?”

Dragus bared his fangs. “The Blood Prince, once called William of Seinne Sonne. Not dead, merely transformed into a more powerful creature.”

Rhys bit back a snarl. “Crown Prince William of Seinne Sonne is dead. You are deceived.”

A dark smirk twisted Dragus’ mouth. “Believe as you wish. You will soon see the truth of it, and you
will
come to be one of us.”

Rhys’ eyes flicked up to meet Dragus’ in full challenge. He would kill this man.

***

Icy rain slashed down over the search expedition’s encampment, turning the thin mountain soil to mud. Very little movement was to be seen throughout the camp, all but the guards on duty and the sentries at the perimeter seeking shelter in the tents. Lightning flickered across the sky.

Very little movement was to be seen among those silently surrounding the camp. Rain dripped from blue skin, soaking into cloth that muffled the metallic clank of armor. Grease darkened the blades that slipped across throats and slid between ribs, the sentries lowered silently one by one to the cold, muddy ground.

***

The flap of the Healer’s tent rustled once again, this time resulting in a brusque exchange of murmured voices. One was the Healer girl who brought Charlie the mug, sounding anxious and eager to please, the other was a male voice, clipped and tense.
 

“Oh! Wait!” the Healer girl called, and Charlie’s “door” started to swing aside.

Charlie flung herself back onto the cot, not wanting to be caught at her clandestine exercise. Her momentum carried her off the other side, taking the cot down with her in a painful jumble. Tangled in the cot, she could hardly pull off dignified innocence. Dang it.

The cot lifted off of her, and she found herself staring upward at a square, chiseled face carved with a scowl and dripping with rain. Oh, look. Another elf.

“Hi,” Charlie said, holding up two fingers in a “peace” sign. Hopefully it didn’t mean something rude on this world.
 

He extended her a hand and pulled her to her feet. The way he eyed her gave her crawlies down her spine.

“Sit,” he said.

She sat on the righted cot.

There was a wet bundle by the “doorway” where he’d dropped it to help her up. With a start, Charlie recognized her own bow and quiver, as well as Jack’s bag. But not Rhys’. What was he planning with that?

The man didn’t sit. He stood at attention. “I understand you go by ‘Charlie.’”

Charlie hesitated. She had no reason to lie, or so she thought, but then she didn’t know anything about these people. “Why? Who wants to know?”

“I am Captain Meryl of His Majesty’s royal guard. You were found in lands outside Seinne Sonne’s borders. Explain yourself.”

“Why should I explain myself when I haven’t gotten any explanations?” Charlie raised her chin. “For all I know you could be lying about being in the royal guard.”

“What business do you have here?” he demanded again. “Why are you in the Reaches?”

Her belligerent and stubborn streak decided to come out. Charlie made a show of sealing her lips and crossing her arms.

“Master Mage Dragus will soon have the truth out of your men,” Captain Meryl said, “but I want to hear it from you.

“Ok, you got me,” Charlie said. “I’m part of a secret rebel alliance dedicated to restore peace to the galaxy by bringing down the evil Empire.”

Captain Meryl’s thick eyebrows snapped downward. “You seek to destroy our kingdom?”

“What? No! That was sarcasm! You wanted an answer, so I gave you one!”

His hard stare bore into her. Charlie felt her mouth go dry. She’d almost gotten herself in serious trouble with her glib reply.

“Look,” Charlie said. “I’m a Gatewalker. I don’t belong here to begin with and I’m just trying to get home. Satisfied?”

He regarded her silently for a long moment. “I don’t believe we were sent here to find Princess Maelyn,” Captain Meryl said, his gaze unrelenting. “You, a Gatewalker; your mercenary and your mage. I think we were sent to find you three.”

“Us?” Charlie said, startled.
 

“You,” he asserted. “I have orders regarding you and I want to know why.”

“Orders? What orders?” Who could possibly know that Charlie, Jack, and Rhys were in the Northern Reaches? But there was also no mention of the pixies. Knew about the three of them, but not the pixies…. Charlie came up blank.

Where
were
the pixies?

Captain Meryl retrieved the bundle from the doorway. He even had her bloodstained sneakers. “These are yours.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said slowly. What was he getting at?

He tossed the sneakers to her. “Put them on.”

***

Rhys felt his muscles loosening, readying for combat. A very familiar feeling. Rhys, seated and thus far dormant, would not seem like a strong threat to Dragus, lording over him with his show of knowledge. Rhys also had the advantage of knowing his enemy. Dragus knew combat magic but his experience lay on the practice field and his open distain for melee would work to Rhys’ advantage. Dragus would be hampered by his robes, but Rhys had to remember that Dragus was a vampire now and would still possess raw strength and speed.

Rhys had to strike swiftly and decisively.

Rhys slid bonelessly to the floor, his left hand reached behind him to grasp the leg of the chair, and as Dragus’ eyes followed the movement of his body toward the floor, Rhys snapped the chair around into the back of the mage’s knees. Dragus tumbled backward, sprawling in a tangle of robes and staff. Like a striking snake, Rhys’ hand caught the mage by his ornamental medallion and twisted it to his neck, intending to drive his other hand - sparking with lightning - into the other man’s heart.

With a snarled word, Dragus slammed his staff across his face, turning him instantly numb.
 

Rhys held his grip on the medallion, the links digging into his flesh, but he could no longer feel it. He grabbed for the staff with his other hand, but his unfeeling hand did not know when to grip.

Dragus slammed the staff into his face again, levering him off with a strength closer to a natural vampire’s, and the links of the chain snapped. Recovering more quickly than Rhys would have given credit, Dragus writhed away and scrambled back to his feet.

“A dor suuf!” Dragus snapped, and Rhys felt a solid ball of magic slam into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. Rhys curled over his assaulted center, his lungs refusing to draw air.

Eyes alight with the realization that the kill could be his, Dragus pounced, his staff cracking down over Rhys’ back. Sensation suddenly returned in a blaze of pain as Dragus’ magic set his nerves on fire.

Dragus opened his mouth to work another spell.

Stop him from speaking!

Straightening, Rhys shifted his weight and spun, sending his foot high in a kick aimed for the mage’s head. Dragus blocked blindly with his staff, flinching back and interrupting the magic working.

Rhys twisted his leg around Dragus’ staff, ripping it from his grip.

“Guardsmen!” Dragus howled, the thrill in his eyes replaced by fear. He fled for the flap of the tent as a pair of armored guards burst inside.
 

No! Dragus must not escape! Rhys realized he still clutched the man’s medallion in his clawed fingers. He pried it from his clenched grip. He could feel the angry skies above still crawling with lightning.
Here
, he told it.
Strike this and strike true.
“Dragus!”
 

Rhys flung the medallion at Dragus, the symbol of his power, of his greed. The man reached out and snatched it from the air.

As the guards charged at Rhys, spears leveled, blinding white light flashed through the tent. It illuminated the horror on Dragus’ face as his lips formed a single word.
You.
 

Lighting cracked down through the tent, targeting the medallion in Dragus’ hand and ripping through his body to find the ground. Dragus lit from within as the lightning passed through his vitals. Dragus’ lifeless body fell to the ground.

“Perhaps I am a danger to others after all,” Rhys murmured.
 

The guards dove at him, but Rhys was not their enemy. He ducked under their spears and spun away. He darted out of the tent, into the storm.

“Stop!”

Rhys froze at the sound of Charlotte’s voice. Silver light flickered over her, standing with her feet planted and bow full drawn, the arrow pointed at him. She loosed her arrow, the shaft flying within inches of his thigh.
 

Rhys spun as the guard behind him cried out in pain and fell, an arrow in his knee.

“Rhys! Rhys! Here!” Charlotte fumbled at her belt and pulled out his sword. “Man, you scared me, popping out of the tent like that. I thought I was going to hit you!”

Rhys took his sword from her hand, shocked to find a smile on his lips.

That was when the ambush sprung.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Stand My Ground

A bolt of lightning forked down into one of the tents in the camp. As if it were a signal, the Blood Prince’s men converged on the camp, sliding in like a well-honed blade. They ripped open tents and cut down many before they could pull a blade or make a sound. Falling rain mixed with blood.
 

An alarm rose up, and the skirmish began in earnest.

***

“I didn’t know where to look for you but when I saw the lightning I figured it had to be you.” Charlie was babbling and she knew it, but -

Rhys hissed her quiet. He wasn’t looking at her, but past her with the same kind of attention he’d paid to the shadow spawn. Charlie clamped her lips shut and bit down on them to keep them that way. On second thought it could have been just lightning, but it was so close and loud and it made her hair stand on end. It was either assume Rhys was the source or run screaming in terror.

“Come! We will find Jack.” Rhys grabbed Charlie’s wrist and dragged her with him as he darted around the edge of the tents, circling the center to move toward the opposite corner.