04 - Rise of the Lycans (9 page)

What do you hear in the wolf’s song?
Tanis pondered.
A reminder that,
deep down inside, you’re still just an animal after all?

A beast that had apparently claimed the affections of a noblewoman.

Interesting,
Tanis thought. Overcoming his initial shock at so unnatural
a pairing, the calculating scribe realized that he had come into possession of
knowledge both valuable and highly dangerous. There was surely some way to turn
Sonja’s scandalous secret to his advantage, but he would have to be careful. The
untimely exposure of such an explosive revelation could have a cataclysmic
effect upon the entire coven, with little guarantee of who might end up on top
when the ashes settled. Innocent bystanders, such as himself, might well find
themselves caught in the crossfire.
I need to give this matter much serious
thought.

Once he got safely indoors, that is.

He returned to the keep himself, by means of an inconspicuous side entrance,
where he was dismayed to find Viktor waiting for him in the great hall. The
Elder sat upon a regal throne at the far end of the chamber, while lesser
gentlemen and their ladies lounged on richly upholstered chairs and divans.
Elegant courtesans displayed their charms in filmy black gowns. A blazing fire
roared in the hearth. Apparently the coven was making a late night of it,
perhaps in anticipation of tomorrow’s delegation from the neighboring lands.
Flutes of chilled steer’s blood clinked lightly; as the Covenant forbade preying
upon their mortal serfs, the coven subsisted on the blood of cattle instead. A
cunning potion, extracted from eels, kept their liquid refreshment from
congealing. Light conversation and gossip echoed off the cold stone walls.
Incense flavored the air. A lute played softly in the background.

Any hopes Tanis had of evading Viktor’s notice were swiftly crushed. He
summoned the scribe to his side with a peremptory gesture. Viktor spoke in a low tone so that they would not
be overheard by the rest of the coven.

“What news of my daughter?” he demanded.

Tanis weighed his options carefully.
No,
he concluded,
this was
neither the time nor the place….

“She is most defiant,” he lied shamelessly. “She refused to see me. Would not
even open her door.”

Viktor scowled. “Why are the young so shortsighted?” he lamented. “She risks
her seat on the Council. And for what?”

Better you should not know that,
Tanis mused.
At least for the
present.
It required an effort not to smile slyly as he replied. “I cannot
imagine, my lord.” He moved quickly to change the subject. “Now we must prepare.
The human nobles will begin arriving as soon as the sun goes down again.”

With any luck, the upcoming festivities would distract Viktor from his
daughter’s alarming doings long enough for Tanis to figure out how best to
exploit his newfound knowledge.
Patience,
he counseled himself. If
immortality had taught him one thing, it was that all things came to those who
wait. For now, it was enough to know that he held the haughty Sonja’s reputation
in his hands.

A pity she never chose to smile upon me before….

Wagon wheels dug deep trenches in the bumpy dirt road as the armored carriage
rattled through the forest. Blue-gray steel plates were riveted to the sides of
the coach, which was drawn by a pair of large black horses. Two glowing
lanterns, mounted on either side of the driver’s seat, did little to illuminate
the dense wilderness through which the carriage traveled. Moonlight leaked
through the barren tree branches overhead, casting eerie shadows in the coach’s
path. The swirling fog was so thick that the driver could barely see more than a
few yards ahead of him. He cracked his whip above the horses, anxious to leave
the gloomy forest behind. A pair of Death Dealers rode ahead of the carriage,
offering a measure of protection. Crested Corinthian-style helmets concealed their faces. Watchful eyes searched the surrounding
woods.

Denied that luxury were the half-score human slaves chained behind the
carriage. Coarse burlap hoods covered their heads so that they were forced to
stumble blindly after the rushing coach, fighting to keep their balance lest
they fall and be dragged to their death. The prisoners were shackled together in
two columns of five slaves each. Their ragged garments were soiled and drenched
in sweat. Fresh scars and bruises chronicled their ordeal. They panted hoarsely
beneath their hoods as they struggled to keep up with the carriage’s exhausting
pace. Iron rings, clamped tightly around their necks, chafed against their
flesh. Manacles bound their wrists. Fifteen prisoners had actually set out on
this hellish trek, but five had already fallen by the wayside. Their lifeless
bodies had been tossed into ditches alongside the road, to be consumed as
carrion by whatever beasts chanced upon their remains. The poor souls had been
denied even the dignity of a decent burial.

Now only ten prisoners remained. Raze wondered whether any of them would
reach the castle alive.

A powerfully built man whose dark skin announced that he had been born far
from these cold Carpathian Mountains, he towered over the other prisoners like a
veritable Goliath. His true name was Razahir, but most called him Raze. A brown
leather vest strained to contain his impressive build. Crude boots defended his
aching feet from the rocky road. A taut chain tugged mercilessly at his neck,
compelling him forward against his will, while a second chain was affixed to his
manacles. The suffocating hood made it hard to breathe. His own ragged panting
echoed in his ears.

Will this hellish journey never end?
he thought darkly.
How much
farther must we travel so?

Raze cursed the malicious fates that had brought him to this sorry pass. Once
the son of a mighty sultan in his native Sudan, he had lost his family and his
heritage when his land was overrun by Saracen invaders. Only his formidable
strength had kept him alive to wander the world as an outcast before ending up a
prisoner here in Europe, far from his distant homeland, which he feared he would
never see again. Only the gods knew what miserable fate awaited him at Castle
Corvinus, which was said to be the domain of ageless demons who fed on the blood
of the living. Although their masters denied it, insisting that the castle was
merely the home of a powerful warlord and his court, tales were told in the
slave quarters of the living dead,
vampires.
What the shamans back home
would have called an
obayifo.

Although brave enough when facing mortal foes, Raze shuddered at the prospect
of falling into the hands of unclean spirits. Had he not already suffered
enough?

Inside the carriage, Natalya tried not to let her parents see her fear. Only
sixteen years old, she had pleaded with them to let her accompany them to Lord
Viktor’s castle for the first time; she didn’t want them to think that she was a
timid child, afraid to travel through a scary forest at night. Even if that
forest was rumored to be haunted by werewolves….

She didn’t know whether to be worried or comforted by the fact that her
parents seemed equally ill at ease. Although they were also striving to conceal
their nerves, Natalya could tell that both her mother and father were obviously
concerned for their safety. Seated across from Natalya in an overstuffed padded
seat, her father busied himself with a stack of documents, while her mother sat
beside her, pretending to concentrate on her embroidery. A pale green wimple,
held in place by a brooch beneath her chin, covered Mother’s hair, as was only
fitting for a married woman. Her plump cheeks and round face were proof of their
prosperity. Father wore a heavy wool cloak over his stocky frame. His bushy
brown beard had lately been infiltrated by strands of gray. Natalya’s own flaxen
curls hung in ringlets past her ears. Her simple blue kirtle suited the rigors
of travel; a more elegant and expensive gown was packed away for her debut at
court.

Assuming they ever made it to the castle alive….

A locked wooden chest, reinforced with iron straps, rested on the floor
between them. Crammed with tribute for Lord Viktor, Father had not allowed the
treasure chest out of his sight. It bounced noisily with every bump and rut in
the road. A candle flickered inside a mounted iron lantern. Natalya prayed that
the candle would not burn out before they reached their destination. The idea of
making the rest of the perilous journey in darkness was too dreadful to
contemplate.

She placed a hand to her face, which felt cold to her touch. Did she look as
pale and frightened as she felt? She trembled and wrung her hands together,
listening in terror to every creak and thump from outside as though they might be the last things she ever heard in this life. The door of
the carriage was made of sturdy oak and bolted with iron, but would that be
enough to spare them from the monsters stalking the woods?

Would anything?

She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that she was back in her own room in
her father’s mansion, safely tucked under the covers. But the rough jolts
shaking the carriage made the fantasy impossible to sustain. There was no
escaping the fact that she was trapped inside an uncomfortable moving box far
from the security of home. That she couldn’t see what was going on outside only
made it worse; she felt as helpless as one of the hooded prisoners being dragged
behind the carriage. For all she knew, an entire pack of werewolves was running
alongside the carriage at this very minute, their feral eyes glowing demonically
in the dark.

A closed metal slit was built into the side of the carriage. Natalya eyed the
slit for several moments while she wrestled with the temptation to take just a
tiny peek outside. What if she saw something terrible, like a hungry werewolf
pouncing right at her? The thought gave her pause, but in the end, her curiosity
could not be denied. Over her mother’s protests, she reached over and slid open
the seal….

To her relief, she saw only one of their armored escorts riding beside them.
The gallant Death Dealer paid her no heed as he lit a flaming arrow and loaded
it into his crossbow. A second later, he fired the burning bolt high into the
sky, where it blazed brightly for a moment or two before crashing to earth like
a fallen star.

Natalya realized that the horseman was surely signaling Castle Corvinus of
their approach.

Praise the saints!
she thought.
We’re almost there!

Lucian was sorting weapons in his smithy when Sonja entered in full armor.
Only her lovely face was bared as she cradled her helmet in the crook of her
elbow. Her martial garb made it clear that she was not here for another amorous
interlude. Indeed, he had anticipated her arrival upon spotting the signal arrow
in the sky a few moments past.

The first of her father’s guests will be arriving soon.

Although the mere sight of her made him yearn to kiss those ruby lips, he
handed her a freshly polished sword. He had labored all day to repair the damage
done to the blade by her battle with the werewolves yesterday. Its keen edge
reflected the glow of his forge. The silvery glint hurt his eyes.

“It is sharp,” he promised her. “No wolf will stand against it.”

She nodded, artfully concealing her emotions, and turned to her men, who were
waiting just outside the smithy. Like her, they were decked out in gleaming
black armor, most of which had been forged by Lucian himself. A lycan groom
stood by in the courtyard, holding onto Hecate’s reins. “Ready the horses,” she
commanded.

The Death Dealers dispersed, momentarily leaving Lucian and Sonja alone.
Their eyes met and a soft, almost inaudible sigh escaped her lips. He could tell
that she was just as frustrated by hopeless longing as he was. They desperately
wanted to make the most of this moment together, to share a touch, a kiss, but the smithy was too exposed,
her men too near. They couldn’t risk it.

“Let someone else go,” he pleaded.

She shook her head, tossing back her sleek dark hair. “Why?”

Need I explain?
He did not like the idea of Sonja venturing out into the
night once more, so soon after her narrow escape from the wolves the night
before. He still recalled the agony of suspense he had endured when it had
seemed as though he might lose her forever. Plus, there was one thing more.

“Last night. After we parted… I do not know. Something…” He found it
hard to put his apprehensions into words, and yet there had been a moment when,
alone in the courtyard after he had watched her disappear into the keep, he’d
felt a peculiar chill run down his spine, as though unseen eyes had been spying
upon them with malign intent. And then the howling had commenced, sounding far
too close to the castle for comfort. “Just let someone else go.”

Sonja frowned. “In case it has escaped your notice, blacksmith, I can look
after myself.”

I know,
he thought. He also knew from experience that few things vexed
her more than being treated like a helpless damsel. Nevertheless, he had felt
compelled to voice his fears even at the risk of provoking her ire.
I would
sooner quarrel with you than lose you to some nebulous danger…

Seeing his chagrin, her voice softened. “And besides, you can always watch
over me from the walls.”

He saw there was no point in attempting to dissuade her. Sonja was nothing if not fearless. When she set her mind to do
something, like dare to love a lycan, no power on earth could turn her from her
chosen course of action. It was one of the things he loved most about her.

“But of course,” he said.

Tanis lurked in the shadow of the gatehouse until he saw Sonja approaching on
horseback. Two Death Dealers rode behind her. Together, the trio of mounted
warriors presented an intimidating aspect, so it required no little courage to
step out in front of them and block their path. He threw up his hands to get
their attention.