As if on cue, the guards froze and stared at
something behind Jean-Pierre. Not willing to take the time to look around, he
just stared at the faces of the men in front of him. Then he heard it.
Several shades were, at a full run, bursting out
of the wooded territory at his back and entering the clearing that separated
the army’s temporary headquarters from the surrounding forest. Understanding
that these shades must be the east scouting party, Jean-Pierre knew then that
his plan was going to work.
“Wolves!” cried one of the soldiers that had just
entered the clearing.
“Right behind us!”
The east scouting party brushed by Jean-Pierre
and past his guards, running toward D’Aguila. Using his extrasensory powers,
Jean-Pierre could smell the wolves, just fifty yards away and rushing fast
towards the clearing in which Jean-Pierre stood.
D’Aguila waved four of the east scout team on,
but stopped the fifth one—apparently the leader. A few words were exchanged,
and the east team’s leader glanced back at Jean-Pierre, whom he only seemed to
be noticing for the fist time. He shrugged. D’Aguila patted him on the back and
sent him toward one of the trapdoors that led into the frozen tunnels below.
Within seconds, the leader followed his scouting team into the snow.
Hesitantly, the warden of Jean-Pierre’s own little
detail turned to see what D’Aguila was doing. The Captain trotted toward him.
He was only ten feet from Jean-Pierre as he began to speak, but the albino
never heard a word because, all at once, a loud chorus of at least a dozen wolves
broke out.
From the expression on D’Aguila’s face,
Jean-Pierre guessed that the animals were closer than the east team’s leader
had led Raulf to believe.
There
was a
man that the albino did not envy.
“Goddamnit!” said the Captain. “Come with me
now, Jean-Pierre, or I swear by the gods that I’ll hunt you down and flay you
alive. I’ll fucking feed you the strips of skin as I peel them off you!”
Again, the wolves howled, and Jean-Pierre
smiled, looking around at the quintet of immortals before him.
“You could take me,” he admitted. “But it
wouldn’t be before they got here. And when they get here, you’re finished. The
Dark Lord will send helicopters and bomb the shit out of you. Whatever’s left,
which won’t be much, he’ll send his army to deal with.”
“Fucker!” snarled D’Aguila. “This wasn’t part of
the deal!”
“The deal?”
Jean-Pierre snorted.
“The deal was a farce. Now go back to your goddamned tunnels, I’ll turn into a
wolf and no one will ever be the wiser. Or stay here and die. It’s that simple.
Well? Go
on
, Captain.”
Instead, D’Aguila stepped forward, removed the
saber from the warden’s hand, and started toward the albino.
“You’re a liar,” the Captain said. “You’ll alert
Blackie. You’ll go back to the Castle. No. Either you come with me or I kill
you now.”
Jean-Pierre edged backward. “You’re being
stupid, Captain.”
“You know I’m right.” To the warden, he said,
“Kill those wolves.”
The Captain took another step, this time edging
around Jean-Pierre, trying to cut him off from the wolves. He was now too close
for the albino to break in that direction.
Shit
.
The Captain took another step—
Jean-Pierre bolted.
D’Aguila roared behind him. With his heart
pounding in his temples in the wind in his hair, Jean-Pierre ran in the only
direction open to him: the cliff.
Fuck
fuck
fuck
.
The Captain, newly gorged and powerful, gained
on him, Jean-Pierre could hear his footsteps right behind him … and closing.
There was no time to evade, no place to go … but forward.
It was a long way down.
Can I survive that fall?
Gods help him, but he was about to find out.
Just as D’Aguila closed the last few feet,
Jean-Pierre reached the cliff and flung himself out into space. The gorge
dropped below him, and he fell into it, trying to hold back his screams.
*
*
*
D’Aguila
stared down at the diminishing shape of the albino as the werewolf plummeted
toward the snowy ground far below. D’Aguila wanted little more than to fly down
after him—it was always possible Jean-Pierre could survive, however unlikely—but
he had an attack to prepare for.
Chapter 14
Damn
them
, Roche Sarnova thought
as quit the War Room. Even though the Ambassador had united the rebellious
factions among the Dark Lord’s flock, there continued to be major problems.
Information still leaked to Subaire. Francois
had supposedly ordered the leaks to plug themselves, having told them that
Roche had infiltrated the network of spies and would soon know who the
informants were. To accentuate this point, several of the leaks had met swift
and not-so-accidental deaths. That should have stopped the problem, but it
hadn’t. Subaire was still aware of the Dark Lord’s moves before he had set them
in motion, and this fact alone was costing him the war. Sarnova blamed the
Sangro
Sankts
.
The hell of it was that his people were dying
out there. Worse, they died for his dreams, not their own—they died for a
vision of a world where all shades would have a home.
I will not surrender
. If he handed himself
over to Subaire, he might as well fly into the sun. She wouldn’t kill him, but
he would never really be able to live again.
No, he knew what he had to do. He just didn’t
know how to do it.
He made his way into his expansive living
quarters. There, lounging in an ornate oak chair by the den
fireplace,
was the Ambassador.
Sarnova had expected him, but the sight of his
old friend made him smile. Francois rose and they embraced warmly.
“Coffee?” the Dark Lord asked, moving into the
kitchen, where one of his mistresses wiped a counter. He patted her on the rump
and brought out a bottle of liquor.
“Coffee?” asked the Ambassador.
“My own special brew,” Sarnova replied
,
pouring the liquor into a mug, which his mistress filled
to the brim with hot coffee she’d brewed for his return.
“I’d love some.”
Once they were both relaxed, Roche dismissed the
girl and turned to his friend.
“Any news from the
front?”
Francois asked.
“Nothing good.
The whole thing sickens
me. I’m seriously considering calling all my subjects together and telling them
why the hell I’m waging this war. Right now they might think I’m just trying to
punish Subaire for her disobedience. At first this was enough for them to fight
for, but there have been too many deaths. My people deserve to know the truth.”
Mauchlery said nothing, only waiting.
The Dark Lord took a deep breath. “I’m thinking
of organizing a vote.”
“A
vote
?”
“Maybe I was wrong in deciding what was best for
my subjects. Perhaps they should have a say in whether or not the war
continues.”
Francois paused. “What if they vote in favor of
surrender?”
“Then I was a fool all along. I’ll stop the war
and admit Subaire and her Half back into the Council.
If
they’ll come back.
But I’m hoping my people are smarter than that, that
they’ll appreciate the new world that I could give them.”
“You didn’t think they would before.”
“Back then I felt I needed the consent of the
Council before announcing it to the general populace, and after seeing the
reaction of the Council I knew there would be many dissenters among my people,
so I proceeded along other avenues.”
“Roche, your vision of an Undead Jerusalem is a
good one, one worth the fight. However, it
is
a radical idea, going up against the longest-held beliefs of our people. You
were
right
in wanting the consent of
the Council first. Hell, that’s what it’s there for, to act as a senate of
sorts.
A sounding board.”
“There are times when the Council’s a hindrance
to the greater good. I’ve … been thinking that I should disband the Council.”
“Then you would be a true tyrant. Many would see
you as a Caesar. Some might move to strike you down. No, Roche, the tradition
of the Council is a good one.”
Sarnova sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Stop second-guessing yourself, my friend.”
“Your words are reassuring, Francois, but I
fear, in your deep heart, even you hold reservations.”
Francois shrugged helplessly. “I’ve lived a
long, long life, Roche, longer even than your own. I’m perhaps one of the
oldest creatures under the sky, and for all of my centuries I’ve thought to
keep the immortal presence a secret from humans. It’s harder for me to let go
of those beliefs than it might be for someone younger. However, I
am
open-minded enough to accept your
ideas.”
His face saddened, and he made an expansive gesture
with his hands. “I fear that not all of our brothers and sisters are so
inclined. Subaire, though wise and experienced, rejected your ideas, as did
half of the Council. But there’s one thing you’re forgetting.”
“Yes?”
“That Subaire could have told the legions of
your plan, of your Jerusalem.
If even a good percentage of them agreed with Subaire’s conclusions, then you
would now be dead—and it seems reasonable to conclude that they would.”
“Yes.”
“Instead, Subaire and her Half took only the
soldiers loyal to them and fled. Admittedly, they did not flee peaceably, but
they did not spread word of your plans. In effect, Subaire spared your life.”
After some time, Sarnova inclined his head.
“Perhaps she didn’t spread word of my plans because she feared that my subjects
would
accept
the notion of my Jerusalem.”
The Ambassador cast him a doubting glance.
Roche gave another weary sigh and reached for
his mug. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Subaire only wants things back the way
they were.” A flash of anger swept through him, then was gone. “If that’s what
she wants, she’s going to be sorely disappointed.”
“Are you going to proceed with the vote?”
“Oh, I was just thinking aloud. Still, the idea
of some form of democracy does appeal to me. I’ve been a borderline tyrant for
three thousand years. My thirst for power has been more than quenched. Now I
want only to make the world a better place for those who follow me—and, I must
admit, I’d like to be remembered as the man who united the mortal and immortal
worlds.” He grimaced. “So how have things been going on your end?”
The Ambassador seemed to welcome the change in conversation.
“Well, things are stable. No one’s going to try to depose you anytime soon.” He
took a breath. “But they’d like to.”
“Colonel De Soto again?”
“Primarily.
He seems to be the
leader of the more radical faction. If I could just get him to shut up, things
would run more smoothly.”
“That can’t happen.”
“I know, Roche. He’s Chief of Security, after
all. He commands more men than pretty much anyone else here, except you and one
or two others. If he met with an accident, his men would put the finger on
you.”
“We can’t let that happen. I need those men. I
can’t have them thinking I murdered their prized Colonel. I’m afraid it’s up to
you to deal with him, to keep on putting him off.”
“There’s another consideration.”
“Yes?”
“There are others, not loyal to
myself, that
are even more radically opposed to the
continuance of the War than De Soto.
However, I can’t get any information out of them concerning their plans ...
whereas the Colonel might. In other words, we need him alive.”
“Interesting.”
“He wants a deadline, Roche. He wants an exact
date and time when the coup will begin. I’ve been stalling, yes, but this is
only making him suspicious.”
Roche smiled grimly. “Watch your back, my
friend.” Just as he was about to raise his mug in a toast, he stopped and sat
up straight.
“What is it?” Francois said.
Roche concentrated. Because of the alcohol and
his exhaustion, the images he was receiving proved elusive, blurry and twisted.
He focused more, and they snapped into clarity.
“Jesus Buddha.”
He slammed the mug down so hard it shattered,
spewing coffee and liquor and ceramic shards all over the room.
“Roche!
What’s wrong?”
“The wolves.
One of the neighboring
mountains ...”
“Blackie, calm down.”
“No.” Grimly, Roche passed a hand across his
face. To his shock, it trembled. “Kharker was right,” he said, hearing the
raggedness in his voice. “The Libertarians, Francois—they’re here.
Ludwig’s widow has come for her vengeance.”
*
*
*
Quickly,
D’Aguila gathered his soldiers and struck off toward headquarters. When he reentered
the clearing, he turned to the soldier named Clayton and said, “Think you can
relocate the surviving wolves before the sun comes up?” All but a few of the
animals had been destroyed.
The soldier nodded. “You wish them dead, as
well?”
“Yes. We need to be certain that the Dark Lord
knows where we are.”
Clayton managed to hide his shock, but could not
help blurting, “Sir?”
“You heard right. We have to play this safe. We
have to make sure that he knows we’re here before I put my plan into action. To
do that, one of the wolves must see you. To that end, act as you did before in
your execution of the animals, but this time let one of them, and only one,
turn in time to see you. We want Sarnova to think this a mistake. If more than
one of the wolves
see
you, he’ll know it for the trap
it is. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Another shadow of doubt crossed
Clayton’s young features. “But won’t the sun—?”
“Yes, of course. By the time your mission’s
complete, it’ll be dawn. So once the wolves are dead burrow under the snow and
get your ass back here with all due speed. In all likelihood, you’ll be one of
the last to evacuate.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Then get yourself into the air, son! We’re
depending on you!”
Clayton launched himself into the sky and flew
north as fast as his wings could carry him.
Satisfied that that part of the plan was taken
care of, D’Aguila led his last two jandrows down into the cold bunkers of the
headquarters. At his return, the other Libertarians leapt to their feet, and he
could see the relief on all of their faces.
“Come to attention, men!” he called, knowing as
he said it that it was an unnecessary order. Still, he was heartened to see his
soldiers snap into position with such precision.
“Men,” he said, speaking slowly so that they
could all measure his words, “when we first arrived here, our orders were to
infiltrate the Castle, kidnap the Dark Lord and bring him back here for
questioning. Events have not turned in our favor. Maleasoel is missing, and
though we all hope for her swift arrival, we cannot base our actions on hope
alone.” He gauged the expressions of his people and saw they were in agreement.
“We must act on our own to execute the completion of our task. Are there any
who disagree?”
Silence.
“Good,” he said. “Also, the escape—and subsequent
death—of the albino Jean-Pierre has alerted the Dark Lord to our presence.”
Seeing the uncomfortable stirrings of his men,
he continued quickly: “Have no fear. Maleasoel and
myself
planned for this eventuality and came to discuss several alternate sites for headquarters.
We must begin an underground evacuation to one of those sites immediately. If
Malie returns, she’ll know where to meet us. At any rate, Blackie will be
mobilizing his troops to come and blast us into a million pieces. We’ll escape
his attack, yes, but should we let a successful escape be an end to the
encounter?
Or
—” he grinned “—should
we lay some trap for the invaders? I’m not talking about simple booby-traps
here.” He could see that many of his troops were beginning to nod, perhaps
guessing at his plan. “For even in retreat, the glorious Army of Liberty will
not be beaten. In fact ... it will prevail!”