Chapter 18
During
past centuries, Ruegger knew, the Old Courtyard was the area in which knights
prepared to go to war. The stables (still in use) ran along one side of the
immense room, and they could be located by smell as much as by their physical
presence.
Along the opposite wall, weapons either hung
from pegs on the wall itself or were located in large storage lockers.
Originally this room had been open to the sky, but as years went by and war
tactics changed a thick ceiling was constructed to absorb the impact of
catapult payloads and, later, bombs. Centuries went by and stories were added
above this chamber so that the castle as a whole was enlarged. Eventually,
medieval ways of war evolved into modern methods, making this courtyard all but
obsolete. Hence, it became more of a foyer than a place in which to prepare for
battle, and as it stood now that’s all it was: a vestibule, and a rarely-used
vestibule at that, since most guests arrived by helicopter.
Ruegger found Sarnova surrounded by forty
armored knights, all mounted and wearing swords and guns. Ruegger suspected
that underneath their breastplates they wore bulletproof vests, as well. It was
a strange marriage between the old ways and the new, but it was a necessary
union in a war where both blades and bullets were effective weapons against the
enemy.
When the knights saw him, their ranks parted like an
iron rose blossoming.
Roche Sarnova appeared, decked out in an antiquated
battle-suit, a hunting rifle stuck in a quill down his back, a sword at his
waist. His mount was large and black and carefully
groomed,
a sort of living throne.
“Glad to see you made it,” the Dark Lord said.
“Where are we going?”
“Outside.
You’ll see.”
“Do I get to dress up, too?”
“Armor’s available if you think you need it.”
“Do I?”
Sarnova smiled. “You’re the only one that has an
answer to that question. Does Maleasoel have a grudge against you, too?”
“You’re afraid she’s out there?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t tell Kharker the details
of her attack, only a rough outline. I assume she told you more. So: are we in
any danger?”
“I don’t know, either.”
Ruegger heard gears turning and spun to see the
portcullis being raised. It lifted, disappearing into the wall above it and
revealing the drawbridge on the other side. Servants started turning a new set
of gears, this time lowering the drawbridge.
In all the times Ruegger had been to the Castle,
he had never entered it nor exited it through this portal, although it was
rumored that Lord Kharker and Roche Sarnova frequently left this way in order
to roam the Carpathians on horse-back, unescorted. Gods, just thinking of all
the rumors their escapades had unleashed made Ruegger want to laugh. Perhaps he
was about to follow in his old friend’s footsteps. Somehow he doubted it.
He glanced over at the Dark Lord. Sarnova’s face
revealed nothing.
With the drawbridge open, snowflakes swirled in,
and Ruegger buttoned his jacket and slipped on a pair of black leather gloves
Danielle had insisted he take along.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said.
Sarnova nodded to one of his men, who led a
group of knights out onto the drawbridge, where they scanned the horizon with
binoculars and sniffed the air for signs of unwelcome visitors. They moved to
the far end of the drawbridge and stepped out on to snow-covered ground. After
a few words with his men, the head knight called, “All clear.”
“Thank you, Colonel De Soto,” said Sarnova,
ushering Ruegger outside. “Colonel, meet the man that’s going to defeat the
Werewolf Kiernevar. Colonel, this is the notorious Vampire Ruegger. Ruegger, this
is Col. De Soto, my Chief of Security.”
Ruegger regarded De Soto for a moment. He was a large man with
thick black hair and a thick black beard, braided into fashionable tendrils. He
looked to have been immortalized in his late forties.
“Good to meet you, Colonel.”
De Soto
gave him a hard look. “I
know who you are. I know what you’re up to. If I ever catch you even looking at
my lord cross-eyed, you’ll find out where our torture chambers are. They don’t
see much use these days, but they’re still operable.”
Ruegger didn’t reply, but he couldn’t help
thinking it was the most contrived drivel he’d ever heard. Whatever De Soto was about, it
wasn’t allegiance to his lord. What’s more, by the look on his face, Sarnova
knew it.
“Are you through?” the Dark Lord said.
“Yes, sir.
Is His Lordship ready
to begin this venture?”
Sarnova regarded his colonel coldly, and though
Ruegger knew he was missing something, it was pretty clear what the Dark Lord
was trying to convey, and it went something like this:
Watch yourself
,
Colonel,
because I know something you don’t
.
“Let’s begin,” said Sarnova.
A man leading a horse approached Ruegger and
offered the Darkling its reins.
“Have you ridden before?” Sarnova asked.
“Not since they called me the Demon of the Mississippi.”
Though Ruegger hadn’t made a close inspection of
the other horses, this one looked to be the runt. Small and shifty, it was the
color of bad milk and didn’t smell much better—this as opposed to Sarnova’s beautiful
black stallion. It didn’t matter. Ruegger had ridden much worse. He shoved a
foot in the stirrups and threw himself into the saddle.
“Well?” asked Sarnova. “How is he?”
Ruegger started to answer,
then
realized that Sarnova had an ulterior motive for asking the question.
“She’s not much to look at,” Ruegger said,
playing along.
“You’re right.” Sarnova turned to De Soto. “Colonel, get
down off there. You and Ruegger are trading.”
“You’ve got to be kidding, my lord.”
“It’s not right that my successor rides a mount
of inferior breed.”
De Soto
glared at Ruegger, who
said nothing. For a long moment, the Colonel refused to move, but at last he
climbed down from his horse and they switched.
Sarnova seemed pleased, and when he nodded to
Ruegger it was a gesture of thanks, which interested Ruegger. He didn’t know
quite why, but it was obvious that De
Soto and his king detested each other.
“How’s that one?” asked the Dark Lord.
Ruegger patted his big brown horse on the neck.
“Much better.”
“Good. Now we have a chore to do.”
As Ruegger had expected, it was much colder outdoors.
What surprised him was the moat; its waters were hot and boiling, giving off a
ghostly heat that stripped the winter of its chill. It had been fashioned, he
realized, out of a hot-water spring. Unlike many moats, it didn’t surround the
castle, as the wide ledge that led up to the castle doors was the only level
ground connected to the structure. The fortress was actually built into the
wall of the mountain. Two sides of it bordered the precipice, one was completely
buried in the mountain, and the fourth—the face of the castle as was originally
intended—fronted the ledge. For its part, the ledge, probably a hundred feet
wide at its broadest point, wound its way around the mountain and ended on the
far side.
To ensure that an invading army could not
penetrate the fortress, the moat was constructed and stocked with all sorts of
vicious creatures, only some of which were mortal. Even as he watched, Ruegger
saw movement beneath the surface and was tempted to ask one of the knights what
manner of beasts lived there. Before he could phrase the question, the Dark
Lord gestured for Ruegger to come to his side, and Ruegger obliged.
When Ruegger glanced back over his shoulder, he
saw the other knights slow their mounts, giving him and their king privacy.
“Cold?” asked the king, as they left the moat
behind.
“I’m fine. Can I ask you a question?”
“About the moat?
It’s got some
interesting points to it that you can’t really tell from here.”
“Not that. What I want to know is—well, what do
I call you? I refuse to call you lord. You’re not my king. And you’re not my
familiar, so I can’t call you Blackie like Kharker does. And I’m not exactly
your enemy, so I can’t call you Blackie in the derogatory way your detractors
do. What does that leave us?”
“Why don’t you just call me Roche? Is that
something you can live with?”
“Roche,” Ruegger said, trying it out. “Roche …
Yes, it will do.”
“As long as we’re on the topic, what do I call the
man who’s going to be my successor shortly?
Ruegger
sounds too formal.”
“That’s my name.”
“What’s your first name?”
“That’s personal.”
“You’re superstitious, Ruegger. Knowledge is
power, yes, but the whole idea that names are related to power is antiquated.”
“Roche Sarnova isn’t the name you were born
with, was it?”
“I guess it wasn’t, at that. But I will tell you
that name, if you’d like.”
“I don’t want to know. Listen, Roche, you seem
like an okay guy, but as far as I know you had my best friend killed, so let’s
not start taking showers together just yet.”
“Ruegger, I’m tired of this. I didn’t have
Ludwig killed.”
“Than help me find out who did.”
“I am. That’s what this trip is all about.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were using the Libertarian Army to find his
killer, right?”
“That was part of it.”
“You might just need that army yet to continue
the quest. As it stands, that army is about to die. The reason I brought you
out here is to save Maleasoel, Jean-Pierre, and the army of Liberty itself.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A creature called the Sabo.”
*
*
*
As
the Funhouse of the Forsaken performed the last half of the night’s show, Sophia
helped the crew backstage. Mainly she just let the props master order her
around, which meant that the larger portion of her responsibilities dealt with
moving stuff. Though it wasn’t very rewarding work, she found it therapeutic.
For the past few days, she’d been relieving her frustrations out on Dirk, the
well-proportioned male she’d bought off the auction blocks, which under normal
circumstances would’ve been all she required, but for some reason helping Claude’s
crew filled a void she hadn’t realized in herself before.
Nevertheless, she was running a little ragged by
the last half of the show, which is when Claude, in costume, walked over to her
while she was transporting a small wooden hill and shook his head in
frustration.
“
Taurke
and Rico have
gone missing,” he said, scratching his scalp with one of his four hands. “
You seen
‘
em
?”
“Who?”
“
Taurke
and Rico, you
know them. Remember, last night?”
“Oh, right.
The extras.”
“Well, they’re supposed to be in a scene coming
up, but they’re nowhere to be found.”
“They’re probably off doing a few lines.”
“Nope.
Already
thought of that one.”
“Well, they’re around. I think I saw them just a
few minutes ago.”
He placed two of his hands on his hips in a
somewhat resigned gesture. “Sophe, they’re gone. The worst thing is
,
we can’t find
Kaiphong
or Vance,
either. All
four’ve
just up and disappeared.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
He used his forth hand to reach out and grab one
of hers. Holding it tenderly, he said, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, and
I don’t want you back here with all these dark corners.”
“You’re being silly.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that something’s
going on, and whatever it is I don’t want you close by if it happens again. Go
in the dressing room and find someone to get you a costume; I want you out
there, on stage, where there’ll be witnesses.”
“Is this a promotion?”
“That’s up to Max. If you do
good
as an extra, maybe he’ll let you read a few lines for him. Problem is, though ...”
She nodded.
I
can’t be a star because I’m not a freak
. “Talk about reverse
discrimination.”
Patting her on the thigh, he said, “Get dressed,
doll. At the party tonight, we’ll hook up. Till then, watch your back, okay?”
By the time Claude had sauntered off to get
made-up, her mind had become engaged in thoughts very unlike the Sophia he
knew. They were primal and they were dark, and they were very, very cold.