“Who are they?”
“Lord Anchises, his Lord of Security, and his brother Lord Stefan,” the thrall answered.
Lucien let go of the man’s hair but stayed hunkered down beside him, watching the transformation he had seen only once and never wanted to see again. He was aware of Petros standing beside him and wondered if his friend remembered the night Lucien had turned him.
“How many thralls are left?” Petros queried.
“Fifteen, maybe twenty. One came down with a fever and was too ill to join us.”
Petros and Lucien exchanged looks. “Which thrall is sick?”
“Kolovis,” the thrall replied and his voice was stronger. “Giles Kolovis.”
“That explains why I haven’t been able to reach him,” Petros said.
“How ill is Kolovis?” Lucien inquired.
“Near to dying I think, Your Grace,” the man answered and sat up, the blue tint gone from his flesh. “Shall I send him on his way, my Prince?”
Petros bent over and took the man’s chin in his hand, and studied his face carefully. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Farris Papoulis,” was the reply.
“Giles Kolovis is of the Korvina clan,” Petros said. “Would you dispatch a thrall belonging to Prince Lucien, Farris Papoulis?”
The man shook his head. “I would not, milord!” he denied.
“Do you swear fealty to Prince Lucien Korvina and his coven?”
“With my last breath, Lord Petros,” Papoulis vowed.
“Then take two of your men and find Kolovis. Guard him well for he is an ally of merit,” Petros ordered.
Papoulis turned to Lucien for permission to rise. He looked healthier than he had a few moments earlier for the venom had done its work in the man’s body.
“Tell me of the woman,” Lucien demanded. “Where is the woman brought to Constantine by the Korvina healer?”
Puzzlement puckered Papoulis’ face and he shook his head. “I know of no such woman, my Prince.”
“He was most likely an outside thrall,” Petros said.
“Aye, that is true, milord. I was,” Papoulis agreed.
Lucien looked about them for those thralls that had been turned were standing about in various stages of transformation into Revenant. “Who among you worked inside the keep?”
Two men stepped forward. “We were Prince Stavros’ guards!” one of the men admitted.
“Was the woman with him?”
“There was one with him before he retired but we removed her before the moon rose.”
Lucien felt a shiver of ice go down his spine. “Removed her?” he repeated.
“She was dead, my Prince,” the ex-guard explained. “We…”
The howl that came roaring from Lucien Korvina’s throat shocked even Petros. Every man there stood transfixed as the Revenant prince suddenly became a towering, raging dragon with fiery breath and thrashing tail adorned with vicious barbs. Sizzling froth fell from the sharp jagged teeth in the dragon’s snarling mouth. Its snake-like eyes glowed scarlet red and smoke spurted from scaly nostrils. Before any of them could react, the dragon twisted around and thundered into the night, the ground shrieking beneath the scrap of its savage claws.
“Well, that’s not good,” Petros barked, shape shifting into a huge black bear. He scrambled after Lucien, speeding along on all fours, his fangs glistening in the moonlight.
Having turned the thralls sent to kill them, the Revenant lords of the Korvina clan waited until no living human remained and all had sworn allegiance to Prince Lucien before turning into animals, themselves, to race toward Duaric, leaving the new Revenants behind to make their way there as best they could.
Trees and shrubs between the place where Lucien’s men had taken cover and the ruins of Duaric burst into flame as the dragon passed. With each bellow of primordial rage, its scorching breath lashed out to set the vegetation on fire. The ground shook beneath its enormous weight and all wildlife scattered to the four winds, trembling in terror as the giant serpent suddenly took to the air, its huge leathery wingspan reaching fifty feet across from the longest razor-sharp wingclaw on the left wing to longest wingclaw attached to the scalloped membranes on the right. The downward sweep of those powerful wings beat heavily against the air, thrusting the body upwards and over the tops of the tallest trees. It banked close to the mountain ridge then began a swooping descent that was accompanied by a horrendous shriek. Its claws were arched, extended to their full length as it dove toward the battlements of Duaric Keep.
The thralls guarding Duaric looked up in horror as the giant winged creature shot toward them. Slapping their hands over their ears as the piercing shriek came, their eardrums burst, and blood trickled down their cheeks. They tried to scurry out of the way, striving to reach cover, but not a one of the ten or so humans escaped the blast of furnace breath that washed over them and turned them to crisply fried meat where they stood. The stench of sulfur filled the air to vie with the noxious scent of charred flesh.
A portion of the parapet crumbled beneath the weight of the dragon as it landed upon the wall walk. Mortar joints cracked and a serpentine line of destruction spread from mortar line to mortar line. Chunks of mortar and stone slid down the age-pitted walls to splash into the weed-clogged moat. Blocks tumbled from decaying crenulations, falling to earth to raise clouds of dust into the air.
Shrieking one last painful cry to the night sky, the dragon shifted once more and the imposing figure of Lucien Korvina stood with legs planted wide, his face a terrible blending of rage and grief. His hair blew wildly about his head and the red glow of his eyes was like a beacon to light his way down the stairs from the wall walk.
Anchises Banos held his ground as the Revenant prince came striding toward him from the bottom of the stairs. In his hands, he held a huge broadsword—gripping the weapon so tightly his arms were trembling. His forehead creased as Korvina came closer and he could read violent death in the prince’s narrowed eyes. Banos knew he would not survive the night whether he struck out at the prince or threw away his weapon.
“Take me to Constantine,” Lucien ordered, his teeth clenched.
Outside a tremendous racket began and Banos knew the Korvina clan was making quick work of what guards were left at Duaric. His own brother was somewhere in that melee and he knew he would never see Stefan again. Not that it mattered for the two had never been close. With a wavering sigh, Banos lowered his weapon then dropped it to the stone floor. He went to one knee, his head lowered.
“I cannot, my Prince,” Anchises Banos said quietly. “Do what you must.”
Knowing Petros would react no differently were the tables turned, Lucien walked past the kneeling man, never giving the moment a second thought as he lashed out with one powerful fist and decapitated Stavros’ Lord of Security. Banos’ head rolled down the corridor, its eyes half-closed and lips parted. Without breaking stride, Lucien looked back, hissed and the Revenant lord’s body burst into flame.
There was nothing between Lucien and the stairs leading up to the chambers above. Somewhere in the maze of stinking, mildewed rooms he knew he would find Stavros. He could feel the other man’s hatred, the intent sizzling in his black heart, but he could also feel Constantine’s fear.
Pity was not in Lucien Korvina that night. Rage unlike anything he had ever known boiled in him like acid—it dripped from his pores, squeezed at his vital organs and festered in his blood. It ruled him and with every step he took, every riser he climbed, the fury grew until his entire body pulsated with it. By the time he reached the landing, the only emotion filling Lucien was all-encompassing wrath.
Stavros, in the form of a snarling tiger, bolted from his chambers and launched himself at Lucien. His sharp claws swiped at his enemy but instead of striking flesh, swiped only air. He landed with a heavy thud against the far wall, shaking his furred head to clear away the pain. Before he could turn to face Lucien, he found himself caught tight in the thick coils of a boa constrictor—its pointed head arched back, tremendous jaws opening to engulf the tiger’s head.
Once more Stavros shape shifted and fell from the tightening hold of the huge snake to skitter away in the form of a small green beetle that darted into a crack in the decaying wall.
The boa snapped in upon itself until it was a furry spider that scampered into the same hole and began stalking the beetle on eight long legs that clicked over the stone.
There wasn’t much room in between the lathe and plaster of the walls and Stavros’ beetle could barely maneuver as it burrowed deeper. Scurrying along as quickly as it could, it could sense the spider coming closer. A large section of space showed a lighted hole at the base, near the floor and the beetle crawled through the hole, materializing on the other side as a skittering rodent, claws clicking on the stone floor as it shot under a piece of furniture.
Lucien pressed his segmented body out of the hole and into what he recognized as a bedchamber. Under a settee, he saw a mouse, nose twitching and he could sense Stavros’ fear. Within the space of a single breath, the spider morphed into a grinning cat, mouth open to show sharp fangs as it propelled itself toward the settee.
Squealing, the mouse raced away and along the baseboard until it darted out the crack between an opened door and the wall. Once in the hall, the mouse elongated to the form of a wolf and stood poised—hackles raised—to pounce on the cat when it stuck its head through the crack in the door.
But it wasn’t a cat that reached out with thickly taloned paws to swipe the door open. The creature that came slowly out of the bedchamber was unlike anything Stavros Constantine had ever seen and the wolf piddled on the floor and turned to run away.
At the end of the corridor where the stairs led to the floor below, a huge black bear stood on its hind legs, front paws arched with vicious curving paws and a snarling muzzle in which jagged ursine teeth showed.
The wolf spun around and would have raced in the opposite direction but there perched a mountain lion bigger than any known to man. The giant cat hissed, its ears drawn back, its giant tail swishing angrily from side to side, knocking against each wall so large was the feline.
There was no escape for Stavros Constantine. He backed up against the far wall, staring in terror at the thing that sidled slowly from the bedchamber. That
thing
that was Lucien Korvina made the wolf’s blood run cold and the lupine shifted haltingly back to humanoid form.
Yet the monstrous being that advanced toward the shivering form of Stavros Constantine did not shift. It crept forward until its leathery face was but a few hot breaths from its enemy’s. Glaring into that frightened face with eyes that flowed a sickly green, the creature flicked out a thick, forked tongue and tasted Stavros’ flesh.
Shrinking in upon himself, cowering as that slick, rough tongue washed over his cheeks, Stavros began to whimper. His legs were trembling so violently, his knees were knocking together. The hot scent of urine clung to him as well as the even bolder, muskier smell of runny shit.
Scales covered the creature’s low-hung brow beneath which slit eyes stared unblinkingly. A short snout with wide nostrils that flexed with each audible breath quivered and leathery lips pulled back from long, needle-like fangs.
“What have I ever done to you, Lucien?” Stavros whined. His teeth were clicking together in rhythm with his knees.
“What, indeed?” the creature queried and its voice was slick and oily and of such a timbre it grated on the nerves.
A broad paw came up to slap against the wall beside Stavros’ head. Thick, yellow claws pierced the stone wall as though it was paper. The creature’s other paw rose to bracket its enemy’s head.
“A few minor things,” Stavros answered. “Nothing s-serious.”
As broad as the head of a small elephant, the creature’s face cocked to one side and one thick, horned brow lifted in challenge. “Minor things,” it repeated. “Nothing serious.”
“You can have my thralls,” Stavros said and bloody tears streaked down his cheeks. “Take my lieutenants, my herd. I’ll not lift a hand to stay you.”
“What of my woman, cousin?” the creature purred.
Stavros’ brows drew together. “Woman?” he repeated.
The creature pressed close to Stavros, and the spiky plates of its scales dug into Constantine’s flesh like hot nettles.
“Which woman?”
A savage paw moved lightning quick and came across Stavros’ face, neatly cleaving the Revenant’s nose from his face. The bloody flesh landed several feet away. Deep gouges scored Constantine’s once-handsome face from left temple to the right side of his screaming mouth.
“
My
woman!” the creature thundered and fire washed over Stavros to burn flesh from bone.
The agonized shrieks of Stavros Constantine trilled down the chamber and the Revenant lord fell to the floor in a heap, his hands pressed over what was left of his ravaged face.
Giles Kolovis had been delirious for several days, a rampaging fever having taken a toll on the Korvina clan member. His legs were rubbery as he was helped past the large black bear that blocked the stairs.
Petros shifted from his ursine shape to reach out and help Farris Papoulis support Giles. “You’ll survive, Giles,” Petros promised. He lowered his head toward the other man’s throat.