Underworld: Blood Enemy (5 page)

He had been hit!

Flames licked at his jacket, and he smothered the fire with his bare palms, wincing in pain. He dropped behind a defensive merlon and took hold of the shaft with his right hand. Gnashing his fangs, he yanked the arrow from his shoulder, producing a spurt of dark red blood.

He inspected the smoldering tip of the arrow, thankful to see that the point was made of sharpened wood, not silver.

Miniature crosses, however, had been etched into the sides of the shaft, no doubt to increase its potency against the vampires and their “demonic” ilk.
Superstitious peasants!
Lucian thought contemptuously.

But wait! Was there perhaps some way to turn the mortals’ ridiculous misconceptions against them? An outlandish idea occurred to Lucian, bringing with it a flicker of renewed hope.
It’s insane,
but what other option do I have?

Only a few feet below, the reinforced oak doors split apart before the indomitable battering ram.

Lucian heard the lycans in the courtyard grunting and growling as they threw themselves against the sundered wooden planks, pushing against the great doors as they bulged inward toward the open courtyard. Each thunderous hammer blow from the battering ram echoed throughout the innermost chambers of the fortress, making the very walls groan.

Lucian realized there were only moments to spare. Scrambling away from the battlements, he called out to the gatehouse’s remaining defenders as they squatted over their respective murder holes. “Hold fast!” he encouraged them. “Make the mortals pay dearly for every inch!” He grabbed an empty fire bucket and a pair of metal tongs and headed for the far end of the rooftop, where the back of the gatehouse met the outer wall of the castle. “I go in search of deliverance!”

It was a measure of his status among his brethren that none of the other lycans questioned his sudden departure. Thrusting the tongs into his belt and the handle of the bucket between his jaws, he dug his sharpened nails into the mortar of the limestone wall and began climbing up the side of the castle toward the belfry many dozens of feet above.

Please,
he prayed to the unseen moon,
let this bizarre strategy prove more than a hopeless
fancy
—
for Sonja’s sake!

Defying gravity, he scaled the wall within seconds and clambered over the wooden balustrade into the bell tower itself, which was silent and deserted, the bell ringer having gone to join the defenders on the castle walls. Lucian found himself alone within the murky belfry, save for the multitude of slumbering bats hanging upside down from the rafters. Hundreds of furry bodies, their wings wrapped about them, clustered beneath the thick wooden beams like a bounty of quivering fruit.

Lucian stared at the bats with anxious eyes. His vampiric masters had a sentimental attachment to the nocturnal creatures, which legend held to be their kin. Contrary to mortal folklore, though, the vampires could not actually transform into bats.

But the besiegers didn’t know that.

Taking hold of the tongs and the metal bucket, he banged the objects together loudly, producing an ear-splitting din. He howled at the top on his lungs and stamped his feet upon the dusty floorboards.
Wake up, you wretched flying mice!
he beseeched them mentally.
Wake up, damn
you!

At first, the sleeping bats refused to stir. In desperation, Lucian hurled the bucket at the bats, followed shortly by the metal tongs, which smacked against the rafters, startling a cluster of bats which began to squeak and flap in protest.

That’s more like it,
Lucian thought,
but not nearly enough.

Ignoring the massive bells, which he assumed the bats were inured to, he called upon his inner beast and unleashed a roar of unparalleled ferocity. Snatching up the fallen bucket and tongs, he tossed them again and again at the recalcitrant bats, all the while roaring and growling like the werewolf he truly was. He scrambled up the walls of the bell tower and chased the bats across the ceiling, snapping and frothing at the mouth.

The terrified bats reacted as though a ravening lion had invaded the belfry. Hundreds of tiny claws released their grip on the rafters as the entire colony took flight at once. The fluttering of countless leather wings filled the upper reaches of the tower as Lucian hung on all fours from the rafters. His frenzied roar echoed through the castle.

The bestial display had the desired effect. Despite the daylight shining outside, the teeming bats fled the belfry en masse in a panicked attempt to escape the monster in their midst. Within seconds, the airborne exodus emptied the tower.

So far, so good,
Lucian appraised, but had his lunatic ploy yielded the results he craved?

Dropping to the floor of the belfry, he dashed to the balustrade to observe his handiwork.

He was not disappointed.

A chorus of hysterical shrieks greeted the sudden appearance of the bats as they filled the sky above the besiegers, who broke and ran for the woods, shielding their heads with their arms. “Run!”

one ashen mortal shouted in fright. “The thirsty dead have awakened!
Wampyr!”

Lucian laughed triumphantly.
I knew it!
he exulted. The credulous peasants assumed the disoriented bats to be the vampires themselves, roused from their crypts in search of vengeance. He watched from the tower as the frantic humans dropped their weapons and raced for their homes as fast as their trembling legs would carry them. The mighty battering ram, abandoned by its bearers, lay impotently on the drawbridge like a fallen tree trunk.

Brother Ambrose tried futilely to halt the men’s disorganized retreat. “Cowards! Apostates! Do not fall for the Devils trickery. Hold true to your faith! Turn around and fight!”

But his words fell on ears made deaf by unreasoning terror. Pale-faced and gasping, the besiegers fled the battle in droves, forcing the ill-tempered monk to retreat as well, lest he be left behind to face the castles defenders single-handed. Casting a backward glance at the unbreached castle, he shook his fist and clutched the golden crucifix on his chest. “Rejoice not, hellspawn! You have but delayed the inevitable day of your terrible downfall. The vengeance of our Lord cannot be denied, and His fearsome wrath shall surely cast you down into the fiery pit!”

But not today,
Lucian thought. He watched with amusement as the fear-stricken rabble disappeared into the woods.
Hot pitch and falling rubble are one thing,
he concluded. A
plague
of flying “vampires” is another.
The former, at least, were threats of an earthly nature, against which a mortal fighter could steel his nerves. But faced with the supernatural, apparently, even the most fanatical vampire slayer proved a coward at heart.

Who needs the full moon,
he gloated,
when the mortals’ own superstitions prove their
greatest weakness?

Exuberant whoops and howls rose from the ramparts and courtyard below, as his fellow lycans realized that the day was theirs. Upon the battle-scarred walls, victorious defenders embraced and waved their weapons in the air, before turning to see to the wounded and the dead. With time, all but the most severely burned would surely recover, thanks to their immortal blood and robust constitutions. Mercifully, no silver tainted the casualties’ wounds, increasing their chances of survival.

Lucian savored his victory. The siege had been broken. Castle Corvinus was secure.

And Sonja—his beloved Sonja—was safe!

Chapter Four

CASTLE CORVINUS

The throne room was packed with vampires and lycans as the castle’s inhabitants gave thanks for their triumph over the besiegers. Beeswax candles glowed from hanging copper lamps, casting flickering shadows on the rich tapestries adorning the walls. A roaring fire blazed within the hearth, dispelling the winter’s chill. Colored tiles, bearing the Corvinus coat of arms, decorated the floor.

Presiding over the ceremony, Lady Ilona addressed the assembly from the raised dais in front of the hearth. The castle’s vampires were seated, according to their rank, on rows of benches divided down the middle by a long aisle. Lycan servants, Lucian among them, stood at attention at the rear of the chamber, facing the dais.

An empty throne, carved from polished ebony rested on a marble platform behind and above the platform upon which Lady Ilona stood. Only an Elder was entitled to sit on the regal seat; thus, its very presence served to remind those in attendance that the absent Marcus remained the ultimate ruler of the coven, at least until Viktor rose to reclaim the throne some three weeks hence.

“Friends, comrades, and faithful subjects,” the lady orated, resplendent in a velvet surcoat trimmed with fur. A gold satin robe and jeweled girdle showed from beneath the crimson velvet, while the lady’s hair was concealed beneath a padded roll studded with pearls. A crest-shaped pendant, similar to that worn by her daughter, hung from a golden chain around her neck. “We are met tonight in the wake of a grievous assault upon our domain and persons. Happily, the threat was rolled back thanks to the merciful dispensations of fate and the valiant efforts of our loyal lycan defenders, to whom I extend the sincere thanks of the entire coven. In reward for your service on our behalf, I hereby decree that tonight shall be a holiday, during which all lycans are excused from their accustomed duties.”

Raucous cheers arose from the gathered lycans. Standing at the front of his fellow servants, Lucian regretted that Nasir, along with a number of others, had not lived to see their courage so honored.
I shall always remember their sacrifice,
he vowed,
even if our masters do not.

Despite Lady Ilona’s opulent attire, Lucian’s own eyes were irresistibly drawn to the alluring figure of Sonja, who accompanied her mother before the vacant throne. The enchanting vampire princess was simply but elegantly clad in a trailing gown of pale blue silk. Her braided blond hair fell past her shoulders, and a delicate golden chain encircled her slender waist. Polished turquoise gleamed from the gilded pendant upon her bosom.

She’s more than just a princess,
Lucian thought. A pang of longing pierced his heart.
She’s a
veritable goddess.

Lady Ilona waited until the lycans’ cheers had subsided before continuing her speech. “We are most especially indebted to one among our servants, whose leadership and cunning were instrumental in the defeat of the mortal invaders. Let the lycan known as Lucian come forward to receive our gratitude.”

Startled to hear his name called, Lucian froze momentarily, only to be shoved forward by the lycans standing behind him. He gulped nervously as he walked down the long aisle leading to the dais, feeling the scrutiny of four score eyes upon him. He was acutely aware of the contrast between his own threadbare garments and the sumptuous raiment of the vampires. The pewter badge on his doublet, which proclaimed his rank as reeve among the servants, was a pitiful thing compared with the gold and rubies adorning the seated courtiers and their ladies.

At length, after what felt like an interminable trek across the span of the throne room, he arrived before Lady Ilona and Sonja. Only with effort did he refrain from gawking at the princess, who now stood mere feet away from him. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed respectfully on the floor.

The lady looked down on him from the dais. “Lucian, sworn vassal of my own noble husband, Viktor, your brethren have testified to your quick thinking and resourcefulness during the recent strife. Therefore, in grateful appreciation of your valor, I am pleased to present you with a small token of our esteem.”

She extended her open palm to Sonja, who dutifully placed a shining object in her mothers hand.

Lady Ilona stepped forward and held out the token, which Lucian saw to be a burnished steel dagger with a polished ebony hilt whose pommel had been carved into the semblance of a wolfs head.

“To replace the blade you sacrificed in our defense,” the lady explained, although the finely crafted knife was infinitely superior to the simple iron blade he had hurled unsuccessfully at Brother Ambrose. Lucian had never possessed an object so exquisite, nor had any other lycan he had ever known.

“Many thanks, milady,” he said, reaching up to accept the dagger. “I am greatly honored.”

“Indeed you are,” Lady Ilona agreed readily, “but not without reason. Your conduct during the battle was remarkable, especially for a lycan. Would that the rest of your breed were half as trustworthy and intelligent.”

Lucian bristled slightly at the lady’s condescending tone, yet he held his tongue. After all, he was already being accorded greater respect than any lycan had reason to expect.

“Your kind words overwhelm me, milady. I only wish that I had succeeded in slaying the black-robed monk I believe to have incited the mortals.” Having the lady’s ear, if only for the moment, he chose to take advantage of the opportunity. “I must warn you, milady, that I fear we have not heard the last of this Brother Ambrose and his murderous designs. In truth, the danger may be far from past.”

A derisive snort came from the front row of the seated vampires. Lucian turned to see Soren rise from his bench to approach the dais. The bearded overseer bore a scornful expression.

“Begging your pardon, Lady Ilona,” Soren said gruffly. “I would not trouble yourself with the baseless worries of a mere lycan. By the sentries’ own admission, the mob that attacked the castle was composed of peasants and shopkeepers, not actual warriors. Hell, they were scared away by a flock of harmless bats! I doubt they have spine enough to mount a second attack after being repelled so easily before.”

Easily?
Indignation flared within Lucian’s breast. He had not seen Soren upon the battlements, risking life and limb in the Elders’ names.
How dare he dismiss my comrades’ heroism so
cavalierly?

Still, he knew better than to challenge a vampire directly, even if Soren had left his silver whips behind on this occasion. “But what of Brother Ambrose?” he asked, taking care to keep his tone suitably deferential. “The monk struck me as a true fanatic, whose zeal will surely compel him to continue his murderous crusade against our kind.”

Soren sneered at the notion. “This Brother Ambrose is probably halfway to Cyprus by now.

Still,” he added with a shrug, “if you desire it, milady, I will post a reward for the monk’s head.”

That will not be enough,
Lucian thought. He doubted that the humans would willingly turn over one of their holy men to the hated immortals, regardless of whatever bounty Soren offered. “If I may be so bold, milady, mayhap you should delay embarking for Buda until we can be certain the danger has passed.”

He feared to think of Sonja traveling outside the castle while Brother Ambrose still lived to foment violence against the coven. The image of her lovely form transfixed by a bloody stake haunted his imagination.

“What danger?” Soren mocked. “I daresay the rabble was enough to frighten the servants, but we vampires have nothing to fear from such riffraff.” He peered down his nose at Lucian. “As the trick with the bats attests, the mortal mob runs at even the illusion of our presence. The events of yesterday prove beyond a doubt that while the humans may dare to challenge mere lycans, they would never dream of confronting those of our blood.”

Lady Ilona nodded. “Your point is well taken, Soren. It is hard to believe that any mortals would risk attacking a caravan guarded by none other than my fellow Death Dealers.”

Her immaculate features appeared set in stone. “In any event, I have not laid eyes on my husband for well nigh two centuries, and I shall not be kept away from his Awakening by a throng of troublesome mortals. The pilgrimage to Buda will proceed as planned.”

Her adamant tone closed the debate. Nevertheless, Lucian could not resist pressing his luck a bit further. “In that case, milady, may I humbly request to accompany the pilgrimage, so as to assure myself of your safety?”

In actuality, it was Sonja’s safety that was of paramount importance to him.

“Ridiculous,” Soren jeered. “What difference could a single lycan make?”

Lady Ilona looked as though she agreed. “It hardly seems necessary…”

Before she could render a final decision, however, Sonja surprised everyone by speaking up. “I would be most grateful for your protection on our journey,” she declared, stepping forward to address Lucian directly. “Your courage and devotion to our court have not gone unnoticed.”

Lucian could scarcely believe his ears. I must
be dreaming,
he thought. Emboldened by the princess’s kind words, he lifted his eyes to find Sonja smiling down on him. Their eyes met, and it was as though their souls reached out to each other, recognizing kindred spirits. A faint blush appeared on her alabaster features, and Lucian felt his heart pound within his chest.
Can it be,
he wondered,
that she feels something for me as well?

“Very well,” Lady Ilona conceded, breaking the moment. “I suppose one more pair of eyes cannot hurt.” She took Sonja’s hand and gently led her back to her place before the throne. “And it’s not as though I intended to make the trip without a decent retinue of servants!” The lady laughed, a sound as cold and crystalline as ice. “That is all, Lucian,” she informed him. “You may return to your fellows.”

“Yes, milady,” he answered. Bowing low, he turned and walked back down the aisle toward the other servants. Soren glowered at him as he passed, but Lucian barely noticed the overseer’s baleful glare; his heart and mind were still reeling from his brief communion with Sonja. Not even in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined sharing such a moment with the sublime vampiress, let alone basking so in the warmth of her regard.
Is this just a wild fancy,
he asked himself uncertainly,
or
did something profound transpire between us?

A sort of euphoria enveloped him as he returned to his place at the back of the throne room. His lycan brothers and sisters congratulated him heartily, slapping his back and oohing over the ornate knife in his hand, but Lucian accepted the accolades as though in a daze. In his mind, he was still back before the throne, hearing Sonja praise his courage and devotion, lost in the depths of her bottomless brown eyes.

“This concludes tonight’s ceremonies,” Lady Ilona announced from the dais. “So let the festivities begin. There is wine and freshly decanted steer blood in the great hall, as well as ale and raw venison for the servants. Let all make merry until the dawn!”

The other lycans howled in anticipation of the feast. Although eager to get to the banquet, the servants nonetheless stepped aside to let the vampires exit the throne room first. Not until the lowest-ranking of the undead filed out of the chamber did the excited lycans pour into the corridor outside, jostling one another in their haste to get to the great hall. Fresh meat was a rare treat for their kind, and they were already drooling at the prospect.

Lucian did not join the rush. In no hurry to witness his peers’ uncouth table manners, he lingered in the throne room, clinging to the memory of Sonja’s smile. His fingers toyed with the ebony-handled dagger, which only recently had rested within Sonja’s tender grip. He envied the blade that it had known the princess’s touch. That it came from her own hand only made the trophy all the more precious to him.

A throaty voice disturbed his reverie. “You must be very proud, Lucian, to be honored so!”

Lucian looked up to discover that he was not quite alone in the empty chamber. Leyba, a lycan scullery maid, had apparently stayed behind as well.
Naturally,
he thought, thrusting the dagger into his belt.
I should have seen this coming.

Of Gypsy stock, Leyba was as dark as Sonja was light. Inky black hair tumbled past her shoulders, and her exotic features were not unattractive, in a crude and slatternly fashion. A coarse wool kirtle, rather tighter than modesty dictated, struggled to contain her voluptuous figure. Saucy black eyes examined Lucian with obvious interest.

In the past, if the truth be known, he had occasionally allowed himself to succumb to Leyba’s seductive wiles. He had always rather suspected, however, that it was his elevated status that attracted the lowly servant wench, rather than any uniquely personal qualities of his own.
It is the
reeve she craves, not Lucian.

“Thank you,” he said coolly. He had no intention of sullying tonight’s transcendent events by rutting mindlessly with this lycan trollop. “I am quite unworthy, of course.”

“You mustn’t be so humble,” Leyba insisted. She stepped closer to him, so that their bodies were less than a hand’s breadth apart. Beneath the smoky kitchen odor clinging to her garment, Lucian scented a muskier aroma. “Everyone knows how bright and talented you are, even the vampires. Why, they practically treat you like one of their own.”

Would that it were so!
Lucian thought. His hopeless yearning for Sonja made it easier to ignore Leyba’s all too obvious advances. “Shouldn’t you be joining the others in the great hall?” he suggested. “Best to take full advantage of the lady’s generosity.”

Leyba declined to take the hint. “Maybe venison isn’t the kind of meat I’m interested in tonight.”

Her fingers suggestively stroked the hilt of his dagger. “I was thinking that perhaps you and I could slip away for a little celebration of our own, just like we used to.”