Empire of the Vampire

by Jay Kristoff

  “‘And yet, here I am.’

  “Her jaw dropped a little at that, swiftly clenched. ‘You know, I survived for years without a soul to help me. I was raised in shit, and I clawed my way out myself. I’ve saved your arse three times now by my counting, and you still give me no credit. You do treat me different now you know I’m a girl. You’re not my papa. I’m not your daughter.’

  “‘Damn right you’re not. She’d make ten of you.’

  “She took a step back then. Like I’d struck her. ‘Goddamn, you’re a sonofabitch. I’m trying to be nice. I tell you I’m worried, and you just spit in my face like a fucking—’

  “‘Shut up.’

  “‘You don’t tell me to shut up! Who the hell do you th—’

  “‘No, shut up!’ I hissed, raising one hand. ‘Listen!’

  “Jaw clenched, scowling in fury, still, she took it in check. Tilting her head, Dior strained to hear. The storm was blustering above, whipping through the trees, but there, above the clamor, it came again, dim, off to the west.

  “She met my eyes, breathing a little quicker. ‘… Thunder?’

  “‘Those are footsteps.’

  “Dior frowned. ‘Big ones.’

  “I lit the wick of the hunter’s lantern at my belt. Snatching up a burning brand from the fire. Dior remained by the blaze, eyes narrowed as she strained to hear.

  “‘I think…’ She shook her head. ‘I think they’re coming closer.’

  “‘They are.’ I slung a blanket onto Fortuna’s back, patted it. ‘We need to go.’

  “Our quarrel forgotten, Dior grabbed another burning branch from the blaze, skipping up onto Fortuna. The mare stomped, ears pricked back as I took her reins, leading her on foot through the scrub and snarl. The wind was screaming, the snow drifting through the tangles above as we moved, me guiding us through the dark with wide paleblood eyes.

  “‘Where are we going?’ Dior asked.

  “I pointed west, to whatever was thudding toward us. ‘Away from that.’

  “The footsteps were drawing closer, distinct now under the raging storm. I could hear whispering through dead trees, a chill rising in my belly. Risking a glance over my shoulder, I saw shapes; a multitude, distant through the snarl. At first, I feared the Dead—some legion raised by Danton to run us to ground, come upon us in the deep of night. I wasn’t certain whether to be relieved or afraid as I saw that the things behind us were nothing near human. Shadows within shadows, the whispering growing louder. Eyes like storm lanterns in the dark, mighty shapes moving through tangled boughs, skin run through with pustules, too many legs, too many mouths. Close and closer.

  “‘Hold on!’

  “We ran now, Fortuna’s eyes grown wide, the mare straining against the reins in my hand. She wanted to gallop, fear stealing her reason, but charging blind through these woods by torchlight was insanity. Still, those shapes, those things, spider-limbed and owl-eyed, they came on in a flood, sliver claws and dagger teeth too many for counting, and though I’d no ken from what horrors they’d been born, I knew they were hungry.

  “‘Gabriel!’ Dior roared.

  “‘Fuck my … Move!’

  “Dior shuffled forward as I scrambled up onto the mare behind her, slinging my arms about her waist as Fortuna broke into a gallop. Branches whipped and clutched, my face torn and bloodied, Dior’s head bowed as she bent double and rode like all hell came after us. She risked a glance behind, eyes wide with fear.

  “‘What the fuck is that?’

  “‘Don’t look!’

  “‘God, Gabriel, they—’

  “‘DON’T LOOK!’

  “Animal shapes, twisted beyond all measure of light or reason. The dreams of screaming trees, raised in the moldering grave of a cradle once green. Mushroom skin and toadstool eyes, faces inside open mouths, slack with spore and madness. I’d trodden the darkest paths of this world. I’d looked into the eyes of hell and seen it looking back. And great fucking Redeemer, I swear I’d never seen the likes of them.

  “If not for Fortuna, they’d have taken us. But the mare ran hard as always, weaving among the rotten hulks, the boughs like grasping hands. And though the dray was never the fastest horse I’d ridden, she was ever one of the steadiest. Her flanks were soon damp with sweat, chest heaving like a bellows, but though we could see only a dozen feet ahead in the strobing light of my lantern, she didn’t stumble. Instead, we wove like a needle through a loom, twists and gullies, leaping over tumbled trees while the snow fell thick about us and Dior and I held on for dear life. I could hear the girl praying, and I found her hand, squeezed it tight as she squeezed back.

  “‘No fear,’ I bid her. ‘I’ve got you.’

  “Blinding snow. Thundering hooves. Twisting shapes at our back. We couldn’t see a thing, and still we rode, tears frozen on our cheeks. I heard a shift in the wind, no longer hissing through the wood but howling instead. The trees about us thinned, and for a second, I thought we’d made it clear, only to feel my heart sink as I realized why. Fortuna charged on, true to her name, true to the last, true to the moment her luck finally failed her.

  “I roared, grabbing at the horse’s reins … but too late, too late, as the cliff’s edge loomed before us. And with a terrified bellow, the panicked mare galloped out into the breach and flung us all over the edge, into the black gulf beyond.

  “Dior screamed and I roared ‘HOLD ON!’ and we were falling, out into the snow-strewn dark. I clutched the girl’s waist, twisted us as we came free from the mare’s back, as poor Fortuna screamed again. Curling over Dior, clutching her tight, I gasped as I felt us strike a surface, jagged, brittle, snapping loose and spinning us about. Something crashed against my skull, splintering, and I realized we’d struck the boughs of some naked pine, hurling down, branch by snapping branch. It spun us, pierced and tore me, and still I held on, refusing to let Dior slip from my arms. I heard her gasp, felt us twist, my leg caught between grasping limbs and snapped clean in two, and I roared in red agony as all the world spun blinding, and at last, we crashed into a thick drift of new-fallen snow.

  “All was fire. The pain every color under heaven. I could see bone thrust up through my torn thigh, out through my leathers—a jagged shank of femur, glistening red. Blood in my eyes and my mouth. Cold and dark all around us. Fear stabbed my heart as I squeezed the girl in my arms, called her name, desperate.

  “‘Dior? Dior!’

  “She lay still, hair strewn across her face, not white now but red. Her brow was cut, but still, still she breathed. I closed my eyes, held her tight, shaking with relief. The snow was piled high around us, the wind a funeral dirge. I looked about, my nose alight with the scent of death. And I saw her, twenty yards away—our poor Fortuna, crumpled in a drift of snow.

  “I couldn’t see the ridge above. I’d no idea how far we’d fallen, nor if we’d been pursued. There was only thin scrub and dead pines about us, no blighted wood nor glowing eyes, and I realized at last we’d reached the edge of the weald. But even if the horrors chasing us hadn’t followed us down here, death still loomed a few heartbeats away.

  “My leg was broken, bone sheared up through bleeding meat. I could straighten it, but it would take time to heal—time we didn’t have. The night was black, my blood freezing on the snow about us, and there was naught to feed a fire with, nor shelter to seek.

  “I fumbled for my pipe, thoughts racing as I inhaled a bloody lungful. And dragging off my gloves, I clenched my teeth, gasping as I reset the bone in my torn thigh. The pain was blinding, my bloody hands shaking as I pushed my shattered femur back inside my torn muscle. I could hear a sound under the wind, ragged and guttural, and I realized at last it was me; screaming as I felt bone meet broken bone.

  “The bleed was sluggish now, bright red. I ripped off my belt, pressed Ashdrinker in her scabbard against my leg and bound her to my thigh, cinching tight as I could. With shaking scarlet hands, I took another hit, feeling the pain ebb like blood in warm water. Still
listening for pursuit, knowing full well if those things followed us, we’d be torn to pieces.

  “No time to fret, I told myself. No time to fear.

  “When there’s little you can do, do what little you can.

  “Face twisted, I took hold of Dior’s coat, dragged us closer to Fortuna’s corpse. I checked the girl over, looking for broken bones, bleeds, but my body had spared her the worst of it. And so, taking the dagger I’d given her, I turned to the fallen mare. She’d carried us longer than we could’ve hoped. She’d been a friend in dark places, and I hated to ask her for more. But there was yet one thing she could do for us.

  “‘I’m sorry, girl,’ I whispered. ‘I wish your luck could’ve held longer.’

  “I plunged the knife into her belly, met with a greasy rush of blood and shit. I tore the blade up to her ribs, sawing through bone. Steam rose from the wound as I thrust my hands into that awful warmth. Swallowing my bile, I took hold and heaved—long coils of gleaming intestine, then up, up into her chest, the great swollen bags of her lungs, her dauntless heart, until the snow was piled with a great heap of steaming viscera.

  “Dior’s lips were blue as I dragged her out of her furs and coat, boots and britches. I cracked Fortuna’s ribs wide, holding them apart with shoulder and elbow, my broken leg screaming as I dragged Dior out of the cold that would kill her and into the only shelter we had. Drenched and gasping, at last I lay back against poor Fortuna’s flank, dragging her guts atop me for the warmth. Stroking her cheek. Murmuring above the howling wind.

  “‘Merci, girl.’

  “Better to be a bastard than a fool.

  “I lay there in the slowly cooling gore. Nothing to do but wait and heal and hope.

  “Hope, but never pray.

  “I reached inside Fortuna’s ruin and found Dior’s hand, squeezing tight.

  “And together, we waited for the dawn.”

  XIII

  FORWARD NOT BACKWARD

  “NO DARKNESS FOUND us before daylight did.

  “I’d kept a weary vigil, my leg slowly mending, the cold and fatigue still threatening to drag me down into a sleep from which I might not wake. The storm rolled on unabated, but now that the black sun had raised its head, I could see a little better at least. In the distance, a broad, dark strip of frozen river snaked through the scattered pines and stubborn tundra scrub. And as I gazed upon that icy shore, I realized at last where we were.

  “‘The Mère…’ I breathed.

  “My thigh still ached, but the sanctus had healed the broken bone well enough. And so, staggering to my feet, I looked around us. It had been ten years since I left this place behind me: the majestic frozen flows, the snowclad expanse, the shadow of peaks looming far to the freezing north. The land that had borne me, lit a fire inside my chest, and in the end, cast me out like a beggar into the cold.

  “‘Nordlund,’ I sighed.

  “At last, I’d come home.

  “A muffled shout came from the corpse behind me, followed by a horrified wail, and turning, I saw blood-streaked hands clawing their way from Fortuna’s gut.

  “‘Hold on!’ I called, prying the ribs and frozen flesh apart, and frost crackling, bones snapping, Dior dragged herself free of the wreckage. She was gasping, drenched in slime and blood, one side of her face swollen black and blue. As I hauled her to her feet, she looked at herself, horrified, scarred hands held out before her. It seemed she might retch.

  “‘Sweet f-f-fucking M-mothermaid…’

  “‘All’s well, girl. Breathe easy now.’

  “She looked to the cliffs above, the broken pine we’d smashed through, and at last, to Fortuna’s ruins. I saw her eyes close, her cheeks balloon. She fell to her knees in pink snow, bending double. But still, she clenched her teeth, finding someplace iron deep inside and swallowing hard. I tore off Fortuna’s blanket, wiped the worst of the gore off Dior’s skin as she heaved and swallowed again.

  “‘Can you walk?’

  “‘W-where?’ she whispered.

  “‘That’s the Mère River. We’re close to Aveléne. I can carry you if you’ve a need.’

  “‘And who’s going to c-carry you?’

  “I waved vaguely. ‘A technicality, Mlle Lachance.’

  “Dior managed a smile at that. And I watched, marveling as she dragged gore-streaked hair from swollen eyes and stood on shaking legs.

  “‘We’ve come this f-far. Forward, not backward.’

  “She scrubbed her skin and hair in the snow as best she could, and I handed over her boots and clothes. Dior kissed her fingertips, kneeling to press them to Fortuna’s cheek, and I could see tears in her eyes as she murmured thanks. It might’ve seemed a foolish thing to some—for this girl to cry over a horse she barely knew when she’d lost so much already. But in truth, we weep not for those departed, but for we who remain. And it’s ever best to take the time to say good-bye. All too often, fate robs us of the chance.

  “We kept to the banks, Dior and I limping side by side. This part of the river was once rushing rapids, frozen now into a still life, in stasis, like the things yet hunting us. I looked to the ridge above, the frost behind, knowing he was still back there. I could feel him now, drawing close, cold and relentless as the snows. The storm rolled on, chilling us to the bone. A snow hawk circled overhead, almost lost against the grey skies.

  “Four days we walked those banks, and by the end, we were both fit to fall. But finally, cresting a snaking bend, I took Dior’s hand and pointed. ‘Look!’

  “A jagged mont rose up from the Mère’s shoreline like a tower to heaven. Good, thick walls encircled the base, and on the road spiraling up its slopes, little houses stood; solid Nordlund stone with black tiled roofs. Atop the chill rock loomed a castle carved of the same dark basalt it stood upon.

  “‘Château Aveléne,’ I breathed.

  “It had seen better days, to be sure—no enchanted castle from a faerie story, nor a place a king would gladly hang his crown. Aveléne was a grim, foreboding place, keeping stoic watch over the frozen river snaking from the north. But any light was welcome in a sea of darkness, and even from the valley below, we could see tiny flames upon the walls that told us here, despite all odds, humanity endured.

  “‘Who built this place?’ Dior whispered.

  “‘An old Nordling king,’ I told her. ‘Centuries past. Lorenzo the Fair, his name. He intended this castle as a gift for his bride on the arrival of their first child. But Lorenzo’s queen and the babe both died in the birth. She lies buried within, along with the child she bore. The castle still bears her name to this day. Aveléne.’

  “‘You’ve been here before?’

  “‘Years back,’ I nodded. ‘Astrid and I stopped here, after we left San Michon. She was heavy with Patience by then, and there were few places in the empire that would’ve welcomed us in our disgrace. But within these walls, we found sanctuary. Peace. It may not look much, but the two happiest days of my life, I had right here.’

  “Dior met my eyes. ‘You mean…’

  “I nodded and swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat. Thumb running across the tattoos on my fingers as the echoes of laughter rang in my head.

  “‘This is where Astrid and I were wed. And where Patience was born.’

  “We trudged up from the frozen bank, past a long wooden pier, now mired in the ice. Barges were dragged up onto the shoreline, and heavy sleds were now lashed to the jetty instead of boats. The snow sat two feet deep, and the going was slow, but at last we hitched up outside the trench and walls encircling the mont. Braziers burned along the battlements, crossbowmen with quarrels dipped in pitch stood the watch. My heart lifted to see it—not a muddy village with a palisade of twigs, nor a gutted monastery with corpses on the walls. But the first true sanctuary we’d found since we left Sūdhaem.

  “‘Hold!’ cried a voice from above the gate. ‘Who goes?’

  “She was a stout Nordish lass, dark of hair and pale of skin. She wa
tched as I pulled the glove off my left hand with my teeth, held my palm up in the freezing air.

  “‘A friend,’ I called.

  “The lass looked me over, scowling. ‘If you knew our capitaine, Frère, you’d know how little weight that star holds beyond these walls. No friend of Aveléne bears it.’

  “‘I know your capitaine, mademoiselle,’ I replied. ‘Better than most. I pray you run now, and bring news that Gabriel de León is come to see him.’

  “‘The Black Lion…’ someone whispered.

  “The watchlass looked me over, growled to the boy beside her. ‘Run, Victor.’

  “We stood in the freezing cold below the walls, Dior shivering on my shoulder, my breath frozen at my lips. I was relieved beyond measure to be here, but as I looked at the youngsters along the battlements, my guilt gnawed me to see it—this tiny spark of light to which we’d brought such danger. I could only hope my friends would understand the peril we faced, and why I’d dragged it to their door.

  “Truthfully, we had nowhere else to go.

  “After an age, I heard metal on metal, a dim cry. And with the splintering of ice upon frozen hinges, the drawbridge lowered. I saw a figure, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, squeezing through the gates before they were barely open, and in a rush, he was running at me, his smile so bright it almost made me cry. He was older now, as we all were, flecks of grey at his temples, a few wrinkles in mahogany skin. But damned if he wasn’t still as handsome as he’d been the day I walked into his armory all those years ago.

  “‘LITTLE LION! ’ Baptiste roared.

  “He crashed into me, knocking the breath from my lungs as he roared. And I laughed as he lifted me off the ground, howling, and Great Redeemer, the joy in his eyes was enough to break my heart. I simply held on, tight as I dared, his baritone deep in my chest as he bellowed my name, and God, try though I did, I couldn’t hold back my tears.

  “Baptiste let me down after an age, and he kissed me on both cheeks, bewildered. ‘Good God Almighty,’ he breathed. ‘I never thought to see you again, brother.’