04 - Rise of the Lycans (22 page)

A lock clicked open as Sabas removed his moon shackle with Lucian’s key. He
hurled the spike-lined collar away from him before lobbing the key over to
Xristo, who eagerly liberated himself from his own shackle. The husky young
lycan gaped in wonder at the verdant wilderness surrounding them. He spoke in a
hush:

“I have never been outside the walls before.”

Neither had most of the castle’s original crop of lycans, Lucian reflected.
“Enjoy it while you can, Xristo. Because soon enough we are going to have to
fight our way back in.”

Raze and the others looked up in surprise. Many leapt to their feet in alarm.
They glanced fearfully in the direction of the castle. Lucian held up a hand to silence their
objections.

“We did not all make it out,” he reminded them, “and I will not leave our
brothers to rot back there. We humiliated Viktor. It is they who will pay the
cost.”

Indeed, even those lycans who did not join in the escape would likely have a
harder time of it now. The Death Dealers and the other vampires were not likely
to forgive the deaths of several of their own. All lycans would be treated much
more harshly, if only to discourage the possibility of further revolts. Kosta
was dead, but some other sadistic vampire was bound to take his place. Sandor,
perhaps, or Soren.

All the more reason to overthrow the vampires once and for all.

“But we were lucky to get out of there alive,” Sabas protested. He sounded
none too eager to face the Death Dealers again. He gestured around him. “There
are but a handful of us. We have few weapons….”

“True,” Lucian admitted. “For now.” He had already conceived of a plan to
expand their ranks, however. “I know of many who would join us.” He turned to
Raze, who was resting his considerable bulk upon a fallen log. Cracked nutshells
littered the ground at the giant’s feet. “The noble who brought you here?” Lucian
asked. “Can you lead us back to his estate?”

Raze gave the matter some thought before answering. Lucian recalled that the
slaves had been blinded by hoods on their grueling trek to the castle.

“Yes,” Raze said finally.

That was just what Lucian wanted to hear. Large estates meant plenty of
desperate serfs and slaves, who might be looking for a way to better their lot in life. And possibly tempted
by the prospect of immortality and unlimited power.
That sounds like the
makings of an army to me,
he thought.
An army of lycans.
“Good.”

Tanis’ hands shook as they fumbled with the padlock on the door to the armory
on the second floor of the keep. Twice he dropped the key before he managed to
unclasp the lock. His close brush with execution had left him deeply shaken, and
sorely regretting his illicit bargain with Sonja. It was as if he could still
feel the Death Dealer’s blade poised above the back of his neck. His heart raced
like a scared rabbit. His mouth felt as dry as dust.

No council seat is worth this,
he thought miserably.
Is it?

A sturdy oak door swung open, offering a glimpse of the armory beyond.
Viktor stepped aside and, with exaggerated politeness, gestured for Tanis to
proceed him. The tremulous scribe felt the Elder’s suspicious eyes upon him as
he stepped into the armory and lit a lantern mounted by the door. The glow from
the lantern illuminated a cramped, windowless chamber that housed the better
part of the castle’s excess arms. Racks of double-edged swords were lined up
against the walls. Stacked quivers held supplies of arrows. Crossbows hung upon
the walls. Parchment scrolls, laid out atop an angled writing desk, kept
inventory of the weapons—and the precious silver used in their construction.
Because of the value of the silver blades and arrowheads, Viktor preferred to
keep the extra arms locked away from greedy servants. Truth be told, Tanis had occasionally
melted down a quarrel or two to dispose of a gambling debt.

Today, however, he ignored the impressive array of weapons as he rummaged
hastily through various shelves and cubbyholes. Loose parchments and quills
tumbled onto the floor. A stuck drawer rattled beneath the desktop as he fought
with it. “It has to be here,” he insisted breathlessly, while Viktor loomed
ominously in the doorway. Sweat dripped from Tanis’ brow. His face was pale as
death. “I’m positive I put it here… it has to be…” He tugged frantically
at the stubborn drawer, which finally slid out into the open. He dived on its
contents like a man searching for the only antidote to a lethal poison.
“Here!”

Salvation in hand, he held up Lucian’s key—which Viktor had confiscated from
the lycan blacksmith after the unfortunate incident at the crossroads. Tanis
eagerly handed the key over to the Elder.

Viktor scowled as he examined the key. He appeared almost disappointed to
find evidence exonerating the accused scribe. No doubt he disliked being proven
wrong. Tanis held his breath as he tensely awaited Viktor’s judgment. He tried
not to look
too
guilty.

Only Sonja knows what part I played in Lucian’s escape,
Tanis tried to
assure himself.
And she will never tell….

“He must have made another key,” Viktor concluded at last. Sighing, he tucked
the key into his belt. He smiled unconvincingly at Tanis. “I never doubted you.”

A transparent lie, but not one Tanis cared to dispute. He bowed respectfully
as Viktor stalked out of the armory, accompanied by a clatter of Death Dealers.
Tanis waited until the echoes of the knights’ heavy tread faded away before he
collapsed onto a nearby bench. Gasping in relief, he wiped the perspiration from
his brow. His inner garments were soaked with sweat. A moment passed before he
permitted himself a small, sly smile.

He had gotten away with it!

Thank the gods that he had thought to forge an extra copy of the key.

Lucian stood atop a mossy boulder, looking down on a mob of rugged-looking
mortal men who stared up at him in awe and excitement. Sunlight filtered through
a mesh of overhanging pine branches as he posed at the edge of the forest,
overlooking barren fields and orchards. A column of thick black smoke rose on
the horizon. As hoped, they had found the estate of Raze’s former master in
disarray following the noble’s brutal death two nights past.

“Now I have no wish to remove one shackle from around your necks, only to
replace it with one of my own,” Lucian told the wide-eyed peasants. With their
unwashed faces and rough woolen garments, they bore a distinct resemblance to
lycan slaves. He doubted that the average mortal could tell them apart. “You
have a choice. You can run and hide, or you can stay and fight. Any man who fights
with me will have his freedom. And if he wishes it, immortality!”

Not all of the discontented serfs accepted his offer, but enough were tempted
to make this afternoon’s expedition worth the trip. Most were restless young
striplings who were all too eager to abandon their hopeless lives in search of
liberty and adventure, although a few older men joined them as well. The mortals
brandished scythes and pitchforks and other weapons liberated from the late
Baron Covash’s extensive farms and estate. Some balked at being converted into
lycans—at least for the time being—but Lucian welcomed their loyalty
nonetheless.

We need all the allies we can muster.

Wasting no time, he led them back to the clearing, where he was pleased to
discover that the lycan camp was coming together. Canvas tarps, salvaged from
neighboring villages, had been strung between the trees to form crude shelters.
Skinned rabbits, squirrels, and other game were roasting over open campfires.
Most of the lycans still preferred their meat raw, but Lucian had allowed Raze
and the newer lycans to cook their food, provided the fires were put out well
before nightfall. He did not want the smoke from the flames to attract their
enemies once the Death Dealers were abroad once more. It would be necessary to
post sentries as well, once the sun went down.

Viktor and his men shall not catch us sleeping,
he vowed.

Feeling rather like Robin Hood, whose fabled exploits had reached even the
Carpathian Mountains, Lucian inspected his growing band of rebels. Between the escaped prisoners
and the new recruits, their ranks had swelled to more than thirty men. Wounded
lycans had already recovered from their injuries. Many had fashioned crude
staffs and cudgels from the raw timber.

But would that be enough to overcome the vampires?

Probably not,
Lucian thought. He turned toward Raze, who was seated on a
nearby boulder. “We need more men.”

The giant nodded in agreement. He polished his stolen sword with a crude
whetstone. “There are more estates to the west of here.”

More humans? Lucian guessed that Raze had been conferring with the mortals.
No doubt they knew of other oppressed communities of peasants, bound in bitter
subjugation to their masters’ lands. It seemed that human serfs and lycans had
much in common…..

“Go to them and see how many will join us,” he agreed. Viktor and his Death
Dealers would not be defeated easily; only a sizable army could overthrow them.
“I will meet you back here in two days’ time.”

Raze eyed him quizzically. This was the first he had heard of Lucian
departing. “Where are you going?”

Better you should not know that,
Lucian thought. What he had in mind
might well alarm Raze and the others. Indeed, Lucian had his own doubts
regarding the wisdom of his plan. He shot his friend a look that discouraged any
further queries. He handed Raze his sword.

“I will return in two days,” he repeated.

In time for my rendezvous with Sonja….

Without further explanation, he left the camp in Raze’s charge and trekked off
into the wilderness. Hours passed as he traversed the forest, occasionally
pausing to refresh himself from a gurgling stream or spring. After centuries
spent toiling over a hot forge, he enjoyed stretching his legs and wandering
freely of his own volition. His bare neck did not miss the constant pricking of
his slave collar. He wondered why he had waited so long to free himself.

But today’s expedition was not just about exercising his newfound autonomy.
He had a more serious purpose in mind as well. A plan had come to his mind that,
should it come to fruition, might well give them a crucial edge over their
undead foes. The scheme was not without risks, to be sure, but he had felt
compelled to pursue it. Too much was at stake to hesitate now.

Human allies are all very well and good,
he mused,
but we need
something more.

Twilight began to chase the light from the sky. Kneeling, he searched the
forest floor for tracks and spoor. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air.

Yes,
he thought.
Somewhere nearby…

Viktor rose promptly at sunset. Troubled by the morning’s events, he had
slept little during the day. He knew he would not rest easily until he had
gotten to the bottom of Lucian’s baffling escape—and seen the traitor put to
death.

Lucian’s smithy struck him as the logical place to continue his
investigation. Viktor prowled the deserted shop, sniffing disdainfully at the sooty apparatus. He glared at the cold and
lifeless forge, which the missing blacksmith had doubtless employed to fashion
his forbidden key. Lucian had always been clever for a lycan.

Too clever, in retrospect.

The Devil take me as a fool,
Viktor thought,
if I ever trust another
lycan again….

Alas, the cluttered smithy offered no clues as to how Lucian managed to
smuggle a second key into the dungeons. Deep in his heart, Viktor suspected that
some nefarious accomplice must have assisted in the prisoners’ escape, but who?
Tanis had been the obvious, and most conveniently expendable, suspect, yet no
damning evidence had attached itself to the scribe’s name. Which left open one
other ghastly possibility which Viktor could scarcely bring himself to
entertain.

No,
he thought.
Not her.

That was unthinkable.

Searching for some other explanation, he stepped around to the rear of the
smithy. He trod upon a rusty metal grate, which clanked loudly beneath his
foot. He glanced down at the grille, which seemed to lead down into a drainage
chute below.

Hark!
he thought.
What’s this?

He tried the grate again and it wobbled loosely above the drain. Perhaps too
loosely?

His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Nightfall found Lucian in a narrow valley nestled at the base of a high
limestone cliff that stretched many feet above his head. Ferns and brambles
sprouted from the rubble at the base of the precipice. Darkness shrouded the wilderness as the temperature dropped severely. The wind, which had
seemed pleasant by day, now had a chilly bite to it. His breath frosted before
his lips. An owl hooted in the treetops.

The nocturnal forest raised unnerving memories of the bloody massacre at the
crossroads only two nights ago. Not for the first time, Lucian wondered if he
was making a serious mistake. Death and danger lurked in these woods at night.
Perhaps he would have been wiser to have stayed back at the camp with Raze and
the others.

But, no, he had come too far already to turn back now. Following his nose, he
traced a faint musky aroma to a deep cleft in the face of the cliff. He paused
and sniffed the air again. The smell was definitely coming from somewhere inside
the cave. His keen ears detected sounds of movement from within, as well as a
raspy noise that sounded like the breathing of a dragon.

Or a werewolf.

This is it,
he realized. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he
slipped through the open fissure. Stygian darkness, only slightly relieved by a
narrow shaft of moonlight, enveloped him and he had to feel his way along a
winding passageway. Water dripped down damp curtains of calcified stone.
Stalactites hung overhead like the fangs of a sleeping dragon. Gaping sinkholes
threatened to swallow him forever. Twisted rock formations, carved out by the
ceaseless passage of time, looked like lurking demons in the fading light.