Bloodborn (40 page)

The Strigoi lurched around the bed, reaching for her. She tore off the sheets and blankets and hurled them at it, covering its head. It snarled and clutched at them, trying to pull them off. Ulrika rolled to the hearth and yanked out a broken bedpost, trailing with flaming curtains, then swung them at the monster like a flail. The curtains slapped across its back, setting the sheets that covered him to smouldering, but not fast enough. It would have them off before the flames really caught.

She looked around, desperate, and saw an oil-lamp on a little table by the bed. She grabbed it and hurled it at Murnau. It shattered on its bony shoulder and the oil splashed everywhere. Instantly, flames erupted from the sheets and the Strigoi howled in pain.

Ulrika charged in, laughing with relief and slashing at its legs with her rapier as it staggered around, trying to pull the burning mantle from its head. She had done it! It was as good as dead! But then, from across the room, the sorcerer shrieked a strange phrase and the flames shrank to nothing and went out, replaced by a cloud of smoke that stank of burnt hair.

The Strigoi ripped the blackened sheets from its head and grabbed for her, its face and neck covered in blisters.

‘Burn me, will you?’ it roared. ‘I’ll burn you!’

Ulrika hopped back, slashing at its arms, but it slapped her blade aside and kicked her in the chest with one huge, clawed foot. She flew back and crashed down on the wreckage of the curtain-shrouded chandelier, falling between two of its golden arms and getting tangled in the mess of bunting. She struggled to pull herself out as the Strigoi limped closer, but could get no purchase on the loose cloth. She felt like she had been thrown in a barrel, posterior first, and was folded in half, arms and legs flailing. It was ridiculous, an embarrassing way to die.

Then she felt heat on her head and shoulders. The flames that were consuming the curtains were creeping towards her. With a cry she tried to pull away from them, but only slipped further between the two arms of the chandelier. She was trapped, and the Strigoi and the fire were both closing in.

‘Leave her, fool!’ came the sorcerer’s voice. ‘Get the witch! The witch!’

The Strigoi snarled, reluctant, but started back towards Gabriella, glaring over its shoulder at Ulrika. ‘Don’t burn too fast, little fly,’ it rasped. ‘You are mine to finish.’

Ulrika dropped her rapier and struggled harder to pull herself free of the chandelier. She had to protect the countess. Her thrashing only sank her deeper into the pocket of drapery. The fire singed the hair on the back of her head. Its crackle was loud in her ears.

As she slipped lower, she could just see the Strigoi closing in on Gabriella from behind. Rodrik and the she-wolf were busy fighting back to back in the seething circle of ghouls. They didn’t see it coming!

‘Mistress, look out!’ Ulrika cried. ‘Mathilda! Rodrik! Stop him!’

Gabriella was still locked in frozen combat with the sorcerer, but Rodrik and the she-wolf cried out, fear in his eyes, and tried to fight free of the ghouls.

The view vanished as Ulrika dropped deeper into the pocket of bunting. A coil of flaming fabric slithered down on top of her, burning her face. She shrieked and scrabbled wildly at the yielding cloth and tore through it with her claws to thud on the floor. Chagrin stung her, painful as the blisters on her cheeks, as she rolled away from the blazing cloth. She could have cut herself out of the pocket at any time! She had forgotten her claws! She had been thinking like a human!

A scream from Gabriella brought her head up and she looked around. In the centre of the room, Murnau was raising the struggling countess over its head in one hand while the she-wolf dragged at the other with her jaws and Rodrik fought towards them through the last few ghouls.

‘Mistress,’ gasped Ulrika, pushing unsteadily to her feet. ‘I’m coming!’

As Ulrika stumbled forwards, Murnau flung the she-wolf through the shattered balcony doors. She smashed into the balustrade, then tumbled over it and fell to the yard, just as Rodrik broke free of the ghouls and chopped Murnau in the ribs. The monster howled and swung Gabriella at him like a club, smashing him flat and stomping on his ribs.

‘No, beast!’ cried Ulrika, hacking down the last remaining ghouls to reach it. ‘Fight me!’

Murnau roared and flung Gabriella at her. Ulrika ducked instinctively as the countess sailed over her head, then ran the Strigoi through the gut with her rapier and tried to claw its eyes with her free hand. It clubbed her in the face with a bone-knuckled fist, and she crashed to the floor, leaving the sword sticking out of its stomach. The monster collapsed in agony, clawing at it.

As her consciousness wavered, a shadow in black robes caught the corner of Ulrika’s eye. It was the warlock, the silvered dagger in his hand, creeping towards Gabriella, who lay slumped unconscious on the ruin of the bed.

‘No!’ Ulrika gasped, but the Strigoi’s sledgehammer fist had stunned her and her limbs wouldn’t answer.

Rodrik staggered back to his feet, echoing her cry, and stumbled for the sorcerer, bent double over his shattered ribs and dragging his heavy sword behind him. He swung wildly just as the little man stabbed down at Gabriella, striking him a glancing blow, then crashed headlong into him.

The silvered dagger tore the mattress an inch from Gabriella’s arm as Rodrik and the warlock tumbled together to the floor. Rodrik elbowed the little man in the face, then pushed to his knees, straddling him, and raised his sword.

The warlock stabbed Rodrik under the ribs with the silvered dagger, and the knight grunted and toppled sideways, his sword slipping from his grip. The little man shoved him off and struggled to his feet.

In a panic, Ulrika fought again to stand, but the Strigoi recovered first, and grabbed her from behind, picking her up by the neck.

‘Now, you burn!’ it roared, then raised her over its head and turned towards the fire.

As she struggled weakly in the Strigoi’s grip, Ulrika saw the sorcerer leaning over Gabriella, laughing, the silvered dagger held high.

‘Mistress,’ she cried, ‘Mistress, wake up.’ But she knew it would be too late.

A thunderclap bang punched her in the ears, and the Strigoi squealed and staggered beneath her. She slipped from its suddenly slack fingers and crashed to the ground head first.

Through a fog of pain she saw the sorcerer turn, eyes wide, then another thunderclap rang through the room and he jerked back, the silvered dagger flying from his hand as his head exploded in a shower of gore and he sank to the floor.

Ulrika rolled onto her back and looked up. A tall figure in a broad hat stood in the bedroom door, a smoking pistol in each hand. Ulrika blinked in surprise.

It was witch hunter Templar Friedrich Holmann.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THE UNKINDEST CUT

The Strigoi roared and stepped over Ulrika, limping unsteadily towards the witch hunter. She could see a smoking, black-edged hole in its back where the silvered pistol ball had struck it, and also the bloodied point of her rapier, still piercing it from front to back. Holmann tossed his pistols aside as it came towards him. He ripped a glass vial from his bandolier and drew his sword, his grey eyes blazing with righteous fury.

‘Foul fiend of darkness,’ he cried, hurling the globe. ‘In Sigmar’s name, I shall destroy thee!’

The Strigoi knocked the vial away, shattering it, and the water splashed its hand and arm. It snarled as its skin bubbled and hissed, but it did not slow. Holmann dodged its swipes and cut its arms with his sword, but the beast hardly seemed to feel it.

Ulrika shook her head, trying to clear her dizziness, then forced herself to her feet. Steel and blessed water would not be enough to stop Murnau, even wounded as it was. Without silver or fire, Holmann didn’t stand a chance.

Bright metal winked at her from the floor – the silvered dagger! It lay where the sorcerer had dropped it when he had died. She staggered towards it as Murnau knocked Holmann into the bed beside the still unconscious Gabriella, stunning him, then raised its claws for a final strike. Ulrika snatched up the dagger and fell towards the Strigoi, stabbing for its bullet wound. She fell short. The shining blade only scored its flank.

It was enough to get its attention. The Strigoi howled as its flesh blackened, and flailed a maddened backhand at her. The barrel-sized fist hit her in the chest and sent her skidding on her back across the polished floor to crash into the remains of the balcony doors.

‘No more silver!’ it cried, stomping after her. ‘No more pain!’

Ulrika struggled to get to her feet as the thing lumbered closer, but the shock of so many impacts had made her limbs numb and clumsy. The room kept tilting to the left.

Holmann picked himself up from the bed and threw another vial at Murnau. The Strigoi roared as the glass shattered and blessed water splashed across its back, raising blisters and steam.

‘Sigmar grant me strength!’ cried Holmann, charging in and aiming a cut at its neck.

Murnau turned and caught his sword arm, and flung him at Ulrika just as she made it to her feet. They slammed backwards together through the shattered doors to crash down on the stone flags of the balcony. The silvered dagger bounced from Ulrika’s grasp and disappeared over the edge to fall to the yard below.

Holmann groaned on top of her, clutching his wrenched and mangled arm. Inside, the Strigoi was limping towards them, its hideous face contorted in pain and Ulrika’s rapier still sticking from its belly.

‘Get off,’ she said. ‘It’s coming.’

‘I should let it kill you for your treachery,’ he growled, but rolled aside.

‘I left you behind to keep you safe.’ She grabbed the balustrade and pulled herself upright.

He rose beside her, wincing, and switched his sword to his left hand while he pressed his right against his side. ‘My safety is not your concern.’

The Strigoi smashed through the door, snarling and swiping at them both. Holmann dived left, slashing behind him, left-handed and awkward. Ulrika sprang up onto the balustrade and looked down. In the yard below Mathilda, still in her she-wolf guise, was fighting a handful of ghouls, while more craned their necks towards the balcony and bayed their hunger. No escape there.

The Strigoi lashed out at Ulrika’s legs, trying to sweep her off the railing. She leapt over its arm and grabbed at a gargoyle that held a lantern in its granite jaws beside the doors. Her battered skull throbbed and she nearly lost her grip to dizziness, but then pulled herself up and caught the edge of the slanted snow-patched roof.

The Strigoi’s claws grabbed her right leg, but Holmann hacked at it from behind and its grip loosened as it turned to swipe at him.

Ulrika heaved herself up onto the snowy roof and shouted down at it. ‘Not him, cracked-pate! Me! Up here!’

She tore slate shingles from the roof and flung them down at Murnau’s head. It snarled and shielded itself with an upraised arm, but she skimmed a slate past it and cracked it in the teeth. It roared, furious, and reached for the roof with its massive hands.

This was a good idea, she thought as she crabbed backwards through the snow towards the ridge line. A slippery, uneven surface was just the thing to even the odds. Here the Strigoi’s clumsiness and terrible wounds would cancel out its strength, while her agility would give her an advantage. Murnau would be slipping on the icy slates while she danced on them.

She saw her mistake as soon as it started after her. Murnau’s claws did not skid on the stone shingles, they smashed through them and bit into the wood lathing beneath. It pulled itself up by main force and crawled towards her like some starved albino ape, its clawed feet digging into the roof the same way its hands did.

‘Svoloch!’ she swore in her native tongue.

‘Ha!’ it laughed. ‘You’ve trapped yourself, little fly! And you’ve lost your silver fang!’

Ulrika backed down the ridge line as Murnau rose up and snatched at her with its claws. Without a weapon she couldn’t hope to fight it. Its reach was too great. She shot a glance behind her. The end of the roof was fast approaching.

Its right claw raked her shoulder and knocked her on her back on the narrow roof peak. She started to slide down the snowy slates and caught herself, arms flung wide. The Strigoi roared in triumph and raised its fists to smash down at her. She looked up. The hilt of her rapier was still sticking out of its gut, right above her. She reached up and yanked it out, twisting as she pulled.