“It is a great risk,” muttered Corlan.
Mace chuckled. “Seven swords against a Vampyre city, and you talk of risks?”
Corlan grinned. “I think we are all insane.”
The sun slowly crept above the eastern mountains, and the sentries disappeared from sight. “Now!” ordered Mace and we left the shelter of the trees and ran down the slope toward the walls. I kept my eyes fixed to the battlements, expecting at any moment to see a line of archers appear with bows bent, arrows aimed at our hearts.
But there was nothing, and we arrived at the cold stone wall apparently undetected. Slowly we traversed the city until we reached the floodgates set below the southern wall. The portcullis was old and rusted, debris clinging to the iron spikes.
“What now?” asked Raul Raubert. “It must be years since this gate was raised. It is rusted solid.”
Mace splashed into the murky water and moved closer, examining the latticed iron. Piercollo joined him. The giant reached out and took hold of a vertical bar, his huge hands closing around the rotted iron. The muscles of his arms swelled out and his face reddened with the effort, but slowly the iron twisted in his grip. Flakes of rust fell to the water, then two rivets snapped clear. Transferring his grip, Piercollo began to work on a second vertical bar, then a horizontal. Within minutes he had opened a gap wide enough to allow entry.
Handing his longbow and sword to me, Mace clambered through. I passed his weapons to him and followed. One by one the others joined us until only Piercollo was left on the outside. “I cannot make it larger,” he said, and only then did we realize that he could not join us. His massive bulk would never squeeze through so small a gap.
“Wait here for us,” said Mace, and without a backward glance headed off into the dark depths of the city sewers.
The stench was nauseatingly strong, and I did not look down at the water swirling around my boots. We heard the skittering of rats, the scratch of tiny talons upon stone, but we waded on into the darkness. When Mace drew his sword, it blazed bright, casting huge shadows on the gleaming walls.
None of us spoke as we moved on. Such was my fear that I do not believe I could have forced words from my mouth.
The tunnel branched to the left, and we followed its winding course. A swimming rat brushed against my shin … then another. I drew my dagger and in the ghostly light saw hundreds of the black shapes swimming around me.
I almost panicked then and began to thrash about, kicking out at the rats. Mace waded back to me, grabbing my arms. “Keep calm!” he hissed.
“I can’t stand them!”
“They are not harming you, but you are making too much noise!”
I took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting for control. Ilka’s voice whispered into my mind: “I am with you, Owen.” I nodded and swallowed hard, tasting the bile in my mouth.
“I am fine. Lead on, Jarek.”
As we rounded yet another bend, I saw a corpse floating facedown in the filthy water. It was bloated, and the stink of corruption was lost amid the foulness of the sewer; the clothes had snagged on a jutting stone. Two rats were sitting on the dead man’s back. What a place to die, I thought. What an awful resting place. There were more corpses farther on, some in the water, some on the narrow stone banks. The light of Mace’s sword sent shadows across the dead faces, giving the appearance of life and movement. I could not look and fixed my gaze to Corlan’s back.
Suddenly Mace halted and glanced to his right. There was an alcove there, deep and shadowed. He stepped toward it, and I saw a child huddled against the stone.
“Don’t hurt me!” she pleaded.
“No one will hurt you, little one,” I said, moving toward her, but she shrank away, her eyes wide and terrified. Wulf stepped in quickly, gathering a rag doll that lay beside the child and holding it out to her.
“Is this your friend?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“It’s Mira,” she told him.
“Well, you hold Mira tight because she must be frightened. And I’ll carry you. Come on. Otherwise you’ll get wet and cold.”
“We are cold,” she said. Wulf reached for her, and she moved into his embrace, her head resting on his neck.
Mace’s sword slashed down, cutting through her back. She made no sound but slid from Wulf’s grasp.
“You bastard!” roared Wulf.
“Look at her!” responded Mace. “And feel your neck!”
I came alongside Wulf, saw the tiny puncture wounds in his throat, and glanced down at the child, seeing for the first time the elongated canines and blood upon her lips.
The tiny rag doll floated away.
“Who would make a Vampyre of a child?” asked Raul Raubert.
“How did you know?” I asked Mace.
“Megan told me. She is here with us. Now, let’s move on.”
Wulf remained staring down at the corpse. “I will avenge you,” he promised.
It was difficult to gauge time within the Stygian gloom of the sewers, but it must have been several hours before we finally reached a set of iron steps set into the wall. Far above we could see daylight spearing through a metal grille. Mace sheathed his sword and began to climb. I followed him, anxious to be out in the open air no matter what perils might await us there.
Mace eased the grille clear and clambered swiftly to the cobbled alleyway beyond. One by one we followed him.
The alley was deserted, and I glanced around, trying to get my bearings. To the right was the spire of the Church of Saint Sophas. To the left I could see the tall crenellated keep that was now a museum.
“We are in the merchants’ quarter,” I said. “The Street of Silk is down there, and that leads to the palace.”
Mace nodded and gazed at the sky. The sun was already past its zenith.
“We don’t have long,” he said grimly.
Sunlight was bright and warm upon their backs as we moved off through the city. Everywhere windows were shuttered, doors bolted. And beyond those whitewashed walls, within the silent buildings, were hundreds of Vampyres awaiting only the night.
“Don’t think of that!” warned Ilka.
But I could think of nothing else as we headed for the palace.
As far as we could, we kept to the alleyways and narrow streets, moving silently through the city past deserted market stalls and shops. Mace was in the lead, an arrow notched to his bow. Wulf came next, then Raul, Ilka, and myself. Corlan followed behind, his pale eyes watching every building, every shadowed entrance.
But we saw no living creature. Bodies lay everywhere: livestock, horses, dogs. All drained of blood.
At last we came in sight of the palace, and Mace ducked behind a high wall, beckoning us to follow him. There were two sentries, hooded and cowled, standing in the shadows beneath the arched double doors of the governor’s residence. They were some fifty paces distant, and they had not seen us.
“What now?” asked Raul.
Mace leaned in close to Wulf. “Do you think you could hit the man on the left?” he asked.
The hunchback glanced around the wall and sniffed loudly. “As long as he stands still. We need to loose our shafts together. Either one of them could raise an alarm. You take the one on the right.”
Mace took several deep breaths, then looked at Wulf again. “Ready?”
“Aye.”
The two bowmen stepped out into the street, drawing smoothly back on their bowstrings. “Now!” ordered Mace. The silver shafts flashed through the air, arcing high and then dropping. Mace’s arrow thudded into the chest of the man on the right, who stumbled back. His companion turned, and Wulf’s shaft plunged into his neck. “Let’s go!” snapped Mace, sprinting across the open ground toward the palace.
The first guard had fallen to his knees, but now he struggled to rise and began to crawl up the stairs toward the double doors. Corlan pulled up and loosed an arrow that took the man low in the back. He reared upright, them tumbled back down the stairs.
We
reached the doors and pushed them open.
The hall inside was deserted, dark hangings blocking the sunlight from the six arched windows within. The smell that greeted us was musty and unpleasant, part mildew, part corruption.
We moved inside, closing the doors behind us. Corridors led off to left and right, and a long staircase lay before us, the carved handrails gleaming with gold leaf.
“Now what?” whispered Wulf.
“Find the bastards and kill them,” said Mace, but there was uncertainty in his voice. The hall was huge, the corridors dark and forbidding. Where would we find the kings? Above, below, left, or right? And how long did we have before dark?
“Owen, you and Wulf take the corridor to the left,” said Mace. “Corlan, you and Ilka go to the right. I’ll take the upstairs. Raul, you come with me.”
“You think this is wise?” I asked him. “Splitting our force this way? Can the spirit of Megan not guide us?”
“She is gone,” he said softly. “And if we were wise, Owen, we’d follow her lead. Let’s move!” Without another word he ran for the stairs, Raul following.
Wulf swore and laid aside his longbow and quiver. “It will be no use in there,” he said, drawing his two short swords. The blades were so bright, the eye could not focus upon them. I drew my dagger, and we moved to the left. Within a few paces we found the entrance to a stairwell, winding down below the palace. Wulf swore again, keeping his voice low. “I must be insane,” he hissed as he descended the first few stairs. I followed.
For some time we moved through deserted corridors, down stairways. All around us was an eerie silence, and I could hear the ragged, frightened rasp of Wulf’s breathing and feel the pounding of my own terrified heart.
The only light was cast by our flickering blades, and all the doorways we came upon were locked from within.
I tapped Wulf on the shoulder. “This is pointless,” I whispered. He nodded, and we began to retrace our steps.
“Beware, Owen,” hissed the voice of Megan in my mind.
A whisper of movement came from behind me like a breath of cold winter air. I spun and lost my footing—it was that which saved me. Cold, cold hands touched my throat, but I was falling and the grip failed to take. I slashed upward with my dagger, which tore through the black cloak, thudding into flesh beneath. The Vampyre screamed then, a high-pitched awful sound that filled the ears and stunned the mind. My hand froze. But Wulf leapt forward to ram his sword into the creature’s mouth, lancing it up through the brain. So great was the light from the blade that the Vampyre’s skull glowed red. Pushing myself to my feet, I plunged my dagger into the point where I felt the heart should be. But the blade merely rang against the stone of the wall, numbing my arm, and the creature’s cloak and tunic fell to the stairs. Of the Vampyre there was no sign.
From below we heard sounds of movement, and dark shadows played against the wall of the winding stair. “Back!” yelled Wulf.
I stumbled back up the stairs. A dark-cloaked figure moving with awesome speed, faster than a striking snake, grabbed at Wulf’s ankle, dragging him down. Without thinking I hurled myself at the creature and sliced the dagger across its face, opening a jagged wound that did not bleed. Wulf stabbed upward, and once more the creature disappeared. But more of them were coming from below, and we turned tail, racing up the stairs and into the hall.
A woman grabbed me, lifting me from my feet, but Wulf stabbed her in the back, and she slumped forward, dropping me to the flagstones and falling across me. As she, too, disappeared, I felt what seemed to be a fine powder settling on my face and into my mouth. It tasted of ash. I retched and spit it out. Wulf spun on his heel and attacked the creatures storming the stairwell, but there were dozens of them, and they forced him back. A dark sword plunged into his chest, and the hunchback roared with pain, then sent a backhand cut that half severed the head of his attacker.
An arrow slammed into the forehead of the leading Vampyre, and he fell. Wulf scrambled back, the black sword still jutting from high in his chest. A second arrow hammered into the throat of an advancing creature, and I saw Corlan throw aside his bow and charge, his silver sword a blur of white light in the gloom of the hall. For a moment only I thought he would kill them all, such was the ferocity of his assault. But a jagged blade ripped into his belly, and he fell into their midst. Wulf’s legs gave way, and he slid down the wall, dropping his swords. I ran forward, scooping one from the flagstones just as two of the demonic warriors attacked. I tried to block a thrust, but the speed of the blow dazzled me, and the sword moved past my guard, the blade missing me but the hilt cracking against my shoulder. Pain burst through me in a wave of fire. My arm was useless, and the sword fell from nerveless fingers. Death was before me. I looked into the bone-white face of my opponent, the white-gray eyes, the pallid skin, and the elongated canines. He lowered his sword and grasped my jerkin, dragging me forward as his mouth moved toward my neck.
Just then Ilka appeared, her saber ripping into his throat. Raul Raubert, yelling an ancient battle cry, joined the attack. And Wulf, brave Wulf, gathered his swords and heaved himself to his feet, half stumbling into the attack.
The Vampyres fell back, and at the rear of the group I saw a creature taller than the rest, face long and fine-boned, eyes slanted and dark. It was not the face I had seen formed from the blood of Cataplas, but the features were similar, and I knew that this was one of the Vampyre kings. My right arm was still numb, but drawing my dagger left-handed, I hurled it with all my strength. I am not and never have been skilled with weapons, but the blade flew to its target as if guided by the hand of destiny. It entered the creature’s right eye and buried itself all the way to the hilt. He screamed, and his slender hands reached up, grabbing the hilt. But then he sagged and slid to the floor.
He did not disappear, but vainly sought to pluck the weapon loose.
“Raul!” I shouted. “The head! The head!” And I pointed at the struggling Vampyre king. Raul Raubert raced forward, his sword hissing through the air. It cleaved the creature’s neck, and the head tilted. Yet still the hands scrabbled at the hilt. Raul struck again, and now the head came loose, rolling to the flagstones.
In that moment every Vampyre in the hall disappeared, and the flesh vanished from the corpse of the king. Close to the skeleton lay a skull seemingly carved from ivory, and in the empty eyesocket was my dagger.
I stumbled toward it, retrieving the weapon.
“Was that Golgoleth?” asked Raul. I shook my head. Corlan groaned, and I made my way to him, kneeling at his side. Blood was staining his chin, and his eyes had the faraway look of the dying.
“Is … Ilka safe?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
His eyes closed. “They … took her. I’m … glad … she escaped.”
“Lie still. Rest.” I wanted to say words of comfort, but I had none. What could I promise this man, this killer, this hero? Redemption? Forgiveness and the promise of eternal life? I did not believe in those things. But I needed to say no more, for he died there without another word.
Raul had moved to the open doors. “God’s teeth!” he said. I ran to the sunlit entrance. Outside, hooded against the sunshine, hundreds more of the creatures were swarming across the market square. Raul and I slammed shut the doors, lifting the bronze reinforced bar into place to secure them.
“It is not going to hold them for long,” he warned. A great hammering started on the doors, the wood shivering.
“We’ve got to find Mace,” I said.
Wulf was sitting with his back to the wall, the skull in his lap. His face was gray, and blood was seeping from the wound in his chest. The sword was still jutting there; it was high, just under the collarbone. “Can you walk?” I asked the hunchback.
He shook his head. “You go on,” he said.
“There is danger close by,” came Megan’s voice. I spun, but the hall was empty.
“You are wrong, lady,” I said aloud.
“I can feel it,
moving closer to you. Deadly. Closer.”
I swung again, but there was nothing save the creatures beyond the gates, and they could not effect a swift entry.
Something moved behind me, and I turned and saw Ilka approaching. Opening my arms, I took her into an embrace. My hands stroked the skin of her back, feeling the flesh beneath the thin tunic. “You are very cold,” I said, rubbing her harder. Her head was resting on my shoulder, and I felt the chill of her face against my neck.
And in that instant I knew.
“Oh, dear God,” I whispered, holding her close to me, waiting for the fangs to open my throat.
I felt her hand move to my side, but there was no sharp bite to my jugular. Instead she slumped into me, and I heard her sweet voice echo in my mind for the last time. Her head fell back. Her eyes were still beautiful, and I did not look at her mouth, not wishing to see the Vampyre canines.
I glanced down to see that she had taken my dagger and plunged it into her breast. I lowered her to the flagstones, tears blurring my vision, seeing not the Vampyre but the lover I would never hold again.
She died there, and her body did not disappear.
Raul laid his hand on my shoulder. “She saved you,” he said, his voice low. “She was a Vampyre, and yet she saved you.”
“It is almost upon you, Owen,” Megan’s voice screamed inside my skull. “Run!”
“The danger is past,” I whispered, still cradling Ilka’s body in my arms.
“No! I can feel it!”
Even through my grief I felt the sudden chill of understanding. “Megan!” I cried. “It is not here. The danger is with you. It is coming for you!”
But there was no answer. No link.
The numbness had faded from my shoulder, and I laid Ilka’s body down and took up her silver saber.
Somewhere within this Vampyre-haunted palace was Golgoleth.