The Chaos Curse (13 page)

When the world finally stopped spinning for poor Danica, she could appreciate the blind luck that had, for the moment, saved her, for the vampire was impaled on that broken branch, through the chest, kicking and thrashing wildly but to no avail.

She took heart, too, in seeing Percival scampering up that same tree, apparently unhurt.

Suddenly Danica was pulled to her feet, caught in the clutches of an angry Kierkan Rufo. She looked to his bare forearm and realized his wounds had healed, except for the reddened patch of skin that had crossed into the sunbeam before the broken door.

“You run no more,” Rufo promised, and Danica shuddered. She was out of strength and out of breath. The fight was over. The remaining vampire walked up beside Rufo. He looked to the tree branch, to his limply hanging friend, and an expression of evil crossed his features.

He glowered at Danica and moved steadily toward her.

It struck Danica as odd at how easily Kierkan Rufo stopped the outraged vampire. Rufo merely held up his hand, and the vampire fell back a step, snarling, whining, helpless.

“This one is for me,” Rufo reminded him.

The vampire looked to his companion again. “If I pull him from the branch, he will return to us,” he reasoned suddenly, and by the legends, that statement was true.

“Leave him!” Rufo commanded as the vampire bounded for the impaled creature. The vampire looked back to his master.

“He went against my will,” Rufo explained. “He would have killed Danica, or taken her for his own. Leave him to the fate he deserves.”

Danica did note the skeptical, then wicked cloud that crossed the lesser vampire’s pallid features. In that moment, the fallen Oghman hated Rufo with all his heart and soul, wanted nothing more than to rip out Rufo’s throat. But that hatred fast melted into resignation, and the lesser vampire moved away.

“Our losses were great,” he remarked, and it seemed curious to Danica that he should be the one to change the subject.

Rufo scoffed at the notion. “They were but zombies,” he replied. “I will return tomorrow night and animate them once again, and animate those who defended this one as well.” He gave Danica a shake, which sent pain flowing up from her ankle.

“What of Diatyne?” the vampire demanded, looking to the tree.

Rufo paused for a long moment. “He failed,” Rufo decided. “His flesh is for the sun.”

To the Oghman vampire, it seemed such a waste. But that was their way, he decided, that was the course he had chosen. So be it.

Rufo looked to Danica, his face now serene. “You need sleep,” he whispered. Danica felt the words more than heard them, felt that falling into slumber would be a good thing indeed.

She shook her head vigorously, realizing she must fight Rufo to the last, on every point.

Rufo stared at her, wondering where that inner strength had come from.

Danica spat in his face.

Rufo hit her hard before he realized the movement, and Danica, battered and weak from loss of blood, fell limply to the ground. The angry vampire grabbed her by the hair and began dragging her, telling the lesser creature to gather the remaining zombies and follow him back to the library.

Rufo hadn’t even cleared the encampment, though, when what was left of his heart tugged at him, reminded him of his feelings for Danica. He bent and picked her up gently in his arms, cradling her close to him, though his body had no warmth to offer. He saw the flash of her white neck in the moonlight and was tempted to feed, tempted to drink of this one’s blood, and it was the strongest act Kierkan Rufo had ever taken to deny himself that pleasure, for he knew that Danica could not afford the act, would surely die and be lost to him forever if he took from her now.

High in the trees above the carnage, Percival watched the unholy procession wander away. The squirrel understood their course, so he flew off, along the branches, into the night, looking for someone who was not in league with Kierkan Rufo.

Kierkan Rufo wanted to go to her, to gently stroke her pretty neck, to kiss her, softly at first, until the urgency built and he could rightly sink his fangs, the material extensions of what he had become, into that throat, and drink of Danica’s blood, feel the warmth of this woman he had desired since the first moment he had seen her.

But Kierkan Rufo could not, despite the chaos curse’s urging. To feed on… no, to join with Danica now, would kill her prematurely. Rufo did not want Danica to die, not yet, not until he could give to her enough of himself, of what he had become, that she might join him in this state of vampirism. No matter the demands of the hunger and the chaos curse, the vampire simply would not accept and would not tolerate Danica’s death.

She would be his queen, Rufo decided. This existence he had chosen would be so much more fulfilling with Danica at his side.

That image of his queen was sweeter still for Rufo when he thought of how it would wound Cadderly.

As much as Kierkan Rufo desired Danica, he wanted more to hurt Cadderly. He would flaunt Danica, his Danica, before the young priest, torturing him with the knowledge that, in the end, it was Cadderly’s life that was a lie.

Drool slid from the vampire’s half-opened mouth as Rufo basked in the fantasy. His bottom lip trembled as he took a sliding step forward. He almost forgot his own reasoning and fell upon unconscious Danica then and there.

He caught himself and straightened, seeming almost embarrassed as he turned to Histra, poor scarred wretch that she was, standing beside him in the room.

“You will watch her,” Rufo commanded.

“I am hungry,” Histra remarked, and she eyed Danica as she spoke.

“No!” Rufo snarled, and the sheer force of his command knocked the lesser vampire back a step. “You will not feed on this one! And if any others come in and harbor similar thoughts, warn them well that I shall destroy them!”

A hiss of disbelief escaped Histra’s bright red lips, and she looked frantically, like a starving animal, from Rufo to Danica.

“You will tend her wounds,” Rufo went on. “And if she dies, your torment will be eternal!” With that, the confident master swept from the room, heading for the wine cellar to spend the daylight hours gathering his strength. He noted the dim outline of an invisible imp perched in a corner and nodded slightly. If anything got out of line here, Druzil would warn him telepathically.

Danica’s trip back to consciousness was a slow and painful journey. As her mind awakened, so, too, did thoughts of the carnage at the campsite, thoughts of poor Dorigen, and the realization that the Edificant Library had fallen. Tormenting dreams carried Danica to the end of her journey, and she opened her eyes with a start.

The room was dim, but not dark, and after a moment, Danica remembered she had been taken in the deep of night, and realized that the next dawn must have come. She steadied her breathing and tried to separate reality from nightmare.

She understood then that reality had become a nightmare.

Danica’s hands shot up suddenly-the movement sent jolts of pain along her leg-and grasped at her neck, feeling for puncture wounds. She relaxed slightly when she was convinced that the skin remained smooth.

But where was she? She struggled to get up on her elbows, but fell back at once as Histra, carrying the stench of burned skin, leaped to her side and glared down at her.

The remaining skin on the back of Histra’s head had ripped apart under the strain of support, so that her face sagged, as if she were wearing a loose and pliable mask.

And those horrid eyes! They seemed as if they would fall from their destroyed sockets, land upon Danica’s torso, and roll about the contours of her body.

Danica tried not to show her relief as the gruesome creature backed away. She saw then that she was in one of the bedrooms of the library, probably the private quarters of Dean Thobicus himself, for the place was handsomely furnished in dark wood. A great rolltop desk sat against the opposite wall, under a fabulous tapestry, and a leather divan was to the side of that. Even the bed showed of, and felt of, luxury. It was a huge four-posted structure with an open canopy top, and was over-stuffed so as to be pillowy soft.

“So you live,” Histra said, her voice full of venom. Danica could understand the source of that rage; she and Histra had been rivals in life, when Histra had tried to use her charms, to no avail, on Cadderly. Danica, with her exotic, almond-shaped eyes the color of cinnamon and unkempt strawberry blond mane, was, by all measures, a beautiful woman. Histra, despite the tenets of her religion, did not like beautiful women, not when they were rivals-and they were always rivals.

Now Histra was an ugly thing, a caricature of her former beauty, and though she obviously held every advantage in this encounter with weak and battered Danica, that fact had her on the defensive and on the verge of exploding.

Danica used her perceptions to overcome the revulsion and the fear. She could sense danger in Histra-if Histra wanted to kill her, Danica could do little to prevent it. But Histra would not kill her, Danica believed. Rufo commanded here-Danica knew that much from their encounter in the foyer-and if Rufo wanted Danica to die, he would have killed her himself, out in the forest.

“How sweet you are,” Histra remarked, talking more to herself than Danica. The abruptly change in the timbre of her voice confirmed Danica’s suspicions that the vampiress was walking a very fine line. Histra put a hand on Danica’s face and ran it gently over her cheek and down the side of her throat.

Histra’s ugly visage shot forward suddenly, mouth opened wide, drool and hot breath spitting onto Danica’s face.

Danica nearly swooned, thought in that instant that her life had come to an abrupt end. She caught her control quickly, though, and looked up to find that Histra had backed off.

“I could destroy you,” the vampiress said matter-of-factly. “I could rip out your heart and eat it. I could stick my fingers through your pretty almond eyes and claw at your brain.”

Danica didn’t know how she should react to the threats. Should she feign horror at Histra’s promises, or remain aloof to it all, calling the vampiress’s bluff?

She decided to call the bluff, and took it one step further. “Kierkan Rufo would not approve,” she replied calmly.

Histra’s openmouthed face shot forward again, but this time, Danica did not flinch.

“He wants me,” Danica said when Histra had backed off.

“I am his queen,” the vampiress protested. “The master does not need you!”

“The master?” Danica whispered under her breath. It was difficult for her to associate those words with Kierkan Rufo. In life the man hadn’t even mastered his own emotions. “He loves you?” she asked innocently.

“He loves me!” Histra declared.

Danica began to chuckle and acted as if she were trying hard to bite it back.

“What?” Histra demanded, and she trembled visibly. Danica realized she was taking a chance here, but she saw no other way.

“Have you looked into a mirror?” Danica asked, but caught herself as she finished the question, as though something had just occurred to her. “Of course,” she added softly, condescendingly. “You can no longer look into mirrors, can you?”

Danica started to say, “Rufo loves me,” but decided that would push the vampiress just a bit too far. “Rufo loves no one,” she corrected Histra. “He has never learned how.”

“You lie.”

“Neither have you,” Danica continued. “In your haste to appease the goddess Sune, you never separated lust from love.”

The mention of Sune brought obvious pain to Histra’s twisted features. Her hand, bones showing between blackened patches of skin, went high, as if to slam down on Danica, but the room’s door swung open an instant before she punched.

“Enough,” said the calm voice of Kierkan Rufo.

Histra looked back over her shoulder and gradually lowered her arm.

Rufo jerked his head to the side and waved his hand across in front of him, and Histra obediently moved to the side wall and lowered her head-and the loose skin of her face hung down to almost brush her large bosom.

“Even so obviously beaten, you find the spirit to play your games,” Rufo said to Danica, his tone congratulatory. He moved beside the bed and put a calm smile on his face. “Save your strength,” he whispered. “Heal your wounds, and then…”

Danica laughed at him, stealing the fantasies, stealing the smug smile and the calm demeanor.

“And then what?” she asked sharply. “You and I shall love for eternity?” She took note that her snicker hurt the vampire profoundly. “I was just explaining to Histra that you do not know how to love.”

“You and Cadderly have gathered all of that emotion for yourselves,” Rufo replied sarcastically, “as though it is some finite commodity…”

“No,” Danica retorted, “but Cadderly and I have learned to share in that emotion. We have learned what the word means.”

“I have loved you…” Rufo started to say, but he caught himself.

“Impossible,” Danica snapped back, again before Rufo could present his argument. “Impossible. You loved Histra, too. I know you did, when you first brought her to your side.” Danica looked at Histra as she continued, hoping to find some clues in the vampiress’s expression to aid her improvisation.

“I did not,” Rufo started to argue, meaning to explain that it was not even him who brought Histra over. Danica cut him short, though, and the hanging words carried a very different meaning to Histra’s ears, seemed a denial that Rufo had ever loved her.

“You did!” Danica cried with all her strength, and she had to pause for a moment just to catch her breath and beat back the ensuing waves of pain. “You loved her,” she went on, sagging deep into her pillow, “when she was pretty.”

That got to Histra; Danica recognized that clearly enough. The vampiress lifted her head, her already grotesque features seeming more so as they twisted with mounting rage.

“But now she is an ugly thing,” Danica said, taking care that her words conveyed her disappointment with Rufo and nothing against Histra. “And no longer appealing.” Danica saw Histra take a short step forward.

“Bene tettemara.” Druzil, invisible and perched upon the room’s desk, growled and shook his dog-faced head.

Rufo shook his head as well, wondering how this conversation had gotten so out of hand. It was difficult for him to bring things back under control while at the same time move beyond the pain that Danica’s words brought him.

“If I had been scarred so,” Danica pressed, “if I became ugly, as Histra has become, Cadderly would love me still. He would not seek a new queen.”

Rufo’s lips moved around the edges of words that did not seem sufficient. He steadied himself abruptly, straightened, and found a measure of dignity.

Then Histra barreled into him, and both flew sidelong, spinning and crashing into the wall. They bit and clawed each other, punched, kicked, anything at all to inflict pain.

Danica knew her moment of opportunity would be brief. She threw herself into a sitting position and gingerly, but as fast as she could, shifted her injured leg to the side of the bed. She stopped suddenly and went perfectly still, trying to concentrate on something minute that had caught her attention, trying to block out the continuing sounds of Rufo and Histra’s struggling.

Danica’s hand shot out to the side like a biting snake, fingers clenching about something she could not see, but could surely sense, an instant before the barbed tail could snap at her.

Druzil began thrashing immediately, caught fast in the woman’s strong grasp. He came back to visibility, for expending the magical energy now seemed foolish; Danica obviously knew where he was.

“You are still not quick enough,” Danica said coldly.

Druzil started to respond, but Danica’s other hand came across furiously, pounding right between his bulbous black eyes, and suddenly, for the imp, all the room was spinning.

Druzil hit the wall hard and slumped, muttering “bene tellemara” over and over. He understood what Rufo would have done to him, or would have tried to do, if his attack on Danica had been successful; in an odd way, Danica had probably saved him from banishment back to his own plane of existence. But Druzil’s dedication was to the chaos curse, of which Kierkan Rufo was now the embodiment, and though Rufo would never see it, keeping this woman alive was a dangerous, dangerous thing.

Danica was off the bed by then, hopping for the door on her one good leg.

“You cannot hurt me!” Druzil rasped at her, and he came in a flurry, wings beating and tail snapping.

Danica kept her balance perfectly on her one good leg, and her hands worked to her call, spinning blocking circles in the air before her.

Druzil’s tail snapped repeatedly, was parried several times, and then was caught again.

The imp growled and waggled his fingers in the air. Greenish bolts of energy erupted from their tips and shot out, stinging Danica.

“You cannot hurt me,” Druzil taunted.

The imp could not keep up with the speed of Danica’s next move. She jerked hard on the tail, spinning him about, then caught his wings, one in each hand, while still holding fast to the tail. Jerking and twisting, Danica tied the three ends, wing, wing, and tail, into a tight knot behind Druzil’s back, and hurled the startled imp face first into the nearest wall.