04 - Rise of the Lycans (19 page)

“I think that some of the others will come with me,” he informed her. “Sabas,
Xristo, the human Raze…”

She pulled away slightly. A worried look crossed her face. “My love…”

He recalled how his impassioned oratory had affected the other lycans. “In
time, I’m certain that I can convince more—”

“Lucian, there is no time,” she interrupted. The urgency in her voice cut
through his deliberations. “My father will have you killed tomorrow—after the
humans have been turned.”

Her stark declaration could not be ignored. He did not bother to ask how she
knew this. The certainty—and fear—in her voice was enough to convince him.

Apparently Viktor wanted him dead after all.

“You must leave at sunrise,” she insisted.

“Sunrise?” That was only hours away. Lucian didn’t understand. How could they
contrive their escape in so short a time? Especially since Sonja could not
venture out into the daylight without risking incineration. “But… how will
you…?”

She shook her head. “The important thing is that you stay alive. You know the
best chance you have is when Viktor and the Death Dealers sleep. I will be at my
father’s side when you go.”

But to leave this place—without you?
He weighed her words in
silence, unable to refute their wisdom. As much as he hated the idea of being
parted from her again, he knew she was right. There was no manner in which they
could safely depart the castle together, not without betraying their secret and
raising all of her father’s Death Dealers in swift pursuit. Their new life together would be
over even before it had begun. Yet recognizing the truth did not make it any
less bitter. He gazed mournfully into her eyes, wishing with all his heart that
there was another way.
What good is life and freedom without you in my arms?

Her own eyes moistened. Her voice caught in her throat. “If this succeeds,”
she promised, drawing him closer, “I will join you after the sun sets in three
days’ time. There is a clearing by the river. I will meet you there.”

Lucian vaguely remembered spotting the river, which flowed down from the
craggy mountain peaks, during his frantic ride through the forest the night
before. Her stated intention did little reassure to him though, and he could
tell by the anguished look in her own eyes that she also knew just how easily
their plans could go awry. They both realized that they might never see each
other again.

“And if it doesn’t succeed?” he asked.

She buried her hands in his disheveled hair and claimed his lips once more.
She gave him a fierce kiss intended to last for all eternity if need be. His
senses were reeling by the time she finally pulled away. Her azure eyes blazed
in the darkness.

“I
will
meet you in the clearing,” she vowed.

Sonja left, the Death Dealers returned Lucian to his original cell. His
fellow lycans still populated the dungeon; apparently they would not be put to
work tonight. Lucian guessed that Viktor preferred to keep the other slaves
confined until he was certain there would be no further insurrections. No doubt
the calculating Elder hoped that Lucian’s death would put an end to any unrest
among the lycans.

It seems I am to be a cautionary lesson,
Lucian mused.
To keep my
brothers in their place.

He was not there long before Tanis visited the dungeon again, now accompanied
by Kosta and a half dozen Death Dealers. The duplicitous scribe scrupulously
avoided looking at Lucian, concentrating on Raze and the other human prisoners instead. He gestured at the mortals.

“Remove them.”

Anxious gasps and whimpers escaped the humans’ cell. Kosta’s men unlocked the
gate and herded them out into the corridor, cracking their whips as necessary.
Manacles chained the slaves’ wrists together. A couple of the more panicky
mortals tried to retreat to the corners of their cell, but a few swift blows
swiftly broke down their resistance. Raze, on the other hand, knew better than
to put up a fight against the armed knights. His mighty frame towered over the
vampires, but he was no match for their swords and crossbows. He shot Lucian an
inquiring look as he exited the cell.

Lucian could only shake his head sadly. He feared he knew what horrific trial
awaited Raze and the other humans now, but there was nothing he could do to
avert their fate. He could but hope that the stalwart African would survive the
harrowing with his proud spirit intact.

“Be brave, human,” Lucian said.
Would that I could spare you this!

Kosta and his soldiers led the mortals away, but Tanis lingered behind. He
sidled up to Lucian’s cell and whispered to him through the bars. A contemptuous
sneer twisted his vulpine features. “Do you know what your problem is?”

“How much time do you have?” Lucian said wryly.

Tanis answered his own question. “You have no respect for the natural order
of things.”

“Things change,” Lucian replied. He realized now that the strict hierarchy of
their society was nothing more than an insidious fiction designed to keep the lycans subject to the
vampires’ tyrannical whims. If that was “the natural order of things”, then to
blazes with it!

Tanis was not inclined to debate the issue. “Yes. Be ready when they do.”

The scribe glanced about to make certain that no one was watching, then
retrieved a wadded scrap of leather from beneath his black velvet doublet. He
quietly tossed the small parcel through the bars. It skittered across the floor
before coming to rest at Lucian’s feet.

“Consider it a parting gift,” Tanis whispered.

Without another word, he turned and scurried from the dungeon. Lucian waited
until he was out of sight before rescuing the bundle from the floor. Turning his
back on the corridor, he furtively unwrapped the parcel.

Inside the rumpled leather was the key to his spiked collar. Perhaps the same
one he had forged in his own smithy.

His fist closed tightly around the key.

Raze felt like he was back in the caravan, marching to an uncertain fate, as
the guards escorted the chained humans down into an even lower level of the
sprawling dungeons. Frequent kicks and prods kept the procession moving, despite
the apprehensions of the frightened mortals. Visions of blood-sucking fangs
sinking into his jugular passed through Raze’s mind as he wondered where they
were being taken—and for what malignant purpose.
At least we’re not hooded
this time,
he thought. His muscular arms tested the chains binding his wrists.

They came to a large vaulted chamber facing a stone archway. The flickering
light of mounted torches failed to penetrate the shadowy cell beyond the
archway. Lord Viktor, whom Raze recognized from the battle at the crossroads,
waited to one side. The Elder’s gaunt, pale face and cold-blooded hauteur were
the epitome of what Raze imagined a vampire lord to be like. His scribe, a
slight man with shifty eyes who reminded Raze of a jackal fawning on a lion,
soon joined the Elder by means of a side corridor. He nodded apologetically at
Viktor before taking his place at the tyrant’s side. Viktor seemed only mildly
annoyed by his servant’s tardiness.

The ruler of the vampires looked over the assembled prisoners, his gaze
briefly lingering on Raze. The chained captive remembered how Viktor had coldly
ordered the bodies of the werewolves’ victims burned. According to Lucian,
Viktor was a vampire to be feared and, looking into the Elder’s pitiless blue
eyes, Raze saw no reason to doubt that assessment. Was it not Viktor who had
ordered Lucian whipped nearly unto death?

“Proceed,” the Elder commanded.

The Death Dealers prodded the slaves toward the waiting doorway. Chains
rattled in the darkness and a low growl sent a fresh jolt of fear through the
helpless prisoners. They turned and tried to flee from the beckoning cell, but
the guards blocked their retreat. A swarthy Turk named Nasir, who had been
captured during the Crusades, was dragged to the front of the line. His frightened
eyes peered into the cell.

Lurid cobalt eyes glared back at him.

“No!”
Nasir shrieked.
“Don’t! No!”

A shaggy black werewolf, indistinguishable from the ones who had attacked the
caravan, lunged from the cell, only to be held back by a sturdy chain around his
neck. The beast reared up onto its hind legs and slashed at the air with
gigantic forepaws. Slobber dripped from its gaping jaws.

“Please, for the love of God!”
Nasir begged, but to no avail. The Death
Dealers shoved him forward—and the wolf’s gleaming fangs sank into his shoulder.
Blood spurted onto the walls and ceiling as Nasir screamed like a damned soul
trapped in the bowels of hell.

Which was not far from the case.

Aside from Raze, the other prisoners erupted into hysterics. The vampires
cracked their whips to keep the panicked slaves in line. An armored knight
wrenched Nasir from the werewolf’s jaws before the beast could rip him to shreds
entirely, and a second human was hurled to the monster with equally gruesome
results. Raze watched in horror as, one by one, the prisoners were bitten by the
wolf, then tossed into an adjacent cell. The infected slaves writhed upon the
floor, convulsing and foaming at the mouth. Blood streamed from their bite
marks, flooding the dungeon. The spreading crimson pool excited the assembled
vampires, who eyed the blood with undisguised rapacity. They licked their lips,
offering glimpses of sharp white fangs.

No vampire tended the victims’ wounds. Instead the Death Dealers clamped
slave collars onto the thrashing prisoners.
They’re turning us into lycans,
Raze grasped,
just like Lucian and the others!

Despite his customary reserve, he felt a growing sense of panic as his own
turn drew near. The man in front of him, a convicted poacher named Zoltan, was
shoved into the werewolf’s clutches. Unsated by its previous victims, the
monster took a chunk out of Zoltan’s shoulder before the soldiers tore the
bleeding slave from its grasp. A metal truncheon poked Raze between the shoulder
blades. The werewolf eyed the huge slave hungrily.

No!
Raze thought.
You shall not taste my flesh!

Exploding into action, he spun around and swung the chains between his wrists
into the skull of the Death Dealer behind him. The improvised weapon struck like
a mace, shattering the vampire’s neck with a loud crack. The soldier dropped to
the floor like the dead man he was. Azure eyes widened with horror as the
vampire realized he was paralyzed from the neck down.
Can a vampire heal from
that?
Raze wondered.

He hoped not.

Swearing profanely, a second guard charged at Raze, but, moving with
surprising agility for a man his size, Raze dodged the attack and looped the
chain over the vampire’s neck. He twisted it like a garrote until he heard the
man’s vertebrae shatter. A strangled gasp escaped his lips. Blood gushed from
his mouth.

That’s two,
Raze thought. He tossed the throttled vampire aside.

By now, however, the other soldiers had united to subdue the unruly prisoner. A whip cracked against Raze’s broad shoulders,
sending a staggering jolt of agony through his body. A steel-shod fist slammed
into his jaw, while a leather boot kicked his legs out from under him. Refusing
to surrender, he swung his chain again, but the vampires were ready for him now.
An alert soldier grabbed hold of the chain with preternatural speed and yanked
it hard. Raze’s hands were almost torn from his wrists and he fell forward onto
his face. His forehead smacked against the hard stone floor. A heel dug into his
back, pinning him down. Another vampire kicked him in the side. A rib cracked,
the pain nearly blinding. He tried to get back up again but was overwhelmed by
the vampires’ superior strength and numbers. Grunting defiantly, he spit a
mouthful of blood and broken teeth onto the ground.

Devils!
he cursed them.
Fiends from hell!

The vampires were done with him, though. His broken rib shifted painfully as
they hauled him to his feet and carried him toward the waiting werewolf, who
drooled in anticipation. Raze squirmed in the soldiers’ grasp and dug his own
heels into the floor, but he was carried forward nonetheless. He felt the
werewolf’s hot breath upon his face. Raze’s heart pounded in fear. Fresh blood
smeared the monster’s muzzle.

Its gore-stained fangs were only a footstep away.

Lucian was conferring softly with Xristo and Sabas through the bars of their
respective cages when the mortal slaves were thrown back into their cells.
Festering bite marks on their shoulders, which were already healing over,
revealed that they had now joined the ranks of the lycans, whether they liked it or not. Lucian could smell the
taint of the wolf spreading through their veins. They were clammy and pale and
shaking as though with ague. Prodigious quantities of sweat soaked through their
ragged garments. They panted like dogs in the heat.

Not all of them would survive the infection, Lucian knew. Once the bite of a
werewolf had been universally contagious, but now, centuries after the initial
plague, it sometimes killed instead of transforming a mortal into a lycan. Was
it that the wolfen strain was growing weaker over the course of generations, he
wondered, or was it simply that humans were developing a fatal resistance to the
plague? Perhaps someday their bite would bring death more often than it brought
immortality.

I’ll never know,
he mused,
unless I escape this prison soon.

One of the transformed slaves—a Saracen by the look of him—scratched at the
ugly red scab upon his shoulder. His sweaty face bore an expression of utter
confusion. That fact that he was still alive baffled him. “What… what did
they do to us?”