“What happened to you?” Grace asked.
His mouth opened but he hesitated.
Grace smiled gently. “There’s no need to tell me if it’s too painful.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that. It was entirely predictable, really. War is brutal, isn’t it? And this war is rewriting the book on brutality, wouldn’t you say?”
She nodded. The cases she had dealt with every single night and day since the outbreak of war were testament to the truth of his words. “But I don’t understand,” Grace said. “When I last saw you, you were heading off with Sidorio’s crew. How did you end up here? I assume it was the Vampirates who did this to you—not our own forces?”
“It was indeed the Vampirates,” Olivier acknowledged bitterly. “You’re right—I did flee from here in the company of Sidorio. I’ve always been drawn to power. And as great as Mosh Zu’s powers were… are… I sensed that Sidorio’s would prove even greater.” As he spoke Sidorio’s name, Olivier’s eyes met her own. She wondered if he knew the true nature of her relationship with Sidorio. She hoped not, but suspected that he might.
“Of course,” Olivier continued, “you might say that my assessment of the situation was correct—that Sidorio’s powers will ultimately prove unstoppable.”
Grace frowned. “That’s a matter of opinion. But I still don’t understand—if you were part of Sidorio’s crew, why would the Vampirates attack you?”
Olivier shook his head sadly. “Grace, let me share with you what I’ve learned about powerful people. They have a habit of stepping on others in order to achieve the giddy heights. Sidorio used me to help instill unrest here at Sanctuary, but, once that was accomplished, he didn’t have sufficient vision to find further use for me.” There was an awkward pause between them. Grace found herself thinking about the book she had glimpsed in Olivier’s vision: The Way of the Dhampir. Why would Olivier have had it? Could he be a dhampir himself? If so, couldn’t he have better protected himself from attack? And if he wasn’t a dhampir, then why was he so interested in them? Did he know about her and Connor? Had he known about them before they had found out the truth for themselves? She must not forget that Olivier had been extremely close to Mosh Zu and therefore privy to many closely guarded secrets. All of which made his ultimate betrayal so explosive.
The thought flashed across her brain again. Could Olivier be a dhampir? He had always claimed parity with Grace during their previous encounters, on the basis that they were neither Vampirates nor donors but “in-betweens.” Had that been his way of saying that they were both dhampirs? She hadn’t even known what a dhampir was back then. How he would have loved being a step ahead of her. Always a step ahead.
She was aware of his eyes upon her. They were so much sharper now than when he had arrived to be healed. Now they were like needles, just as before. She took a breath. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her. She had come a long way since their last meetings. She met his gaze. Had he somehow managed to key into her thoughts? If he was a dhampir, he might well be capable of that. But no, when he resumed speaking, it seemed that he had been brooding further—not on her but her father.
“Sidorio isn’t what you’d call a forward-thinker. I had so much to offer him.” Olivier smiled pointedly. “So much knowledge and skill to share. But he was only able to focus on the two boys he had already made his deputies—Stukeley and Desperado.” He spat their names as if expelling a lump of gristle. Grace could tell there was no love lost between the three of them.
“So,” Olivier continued, “having lured me away from this place, Sidorio cut me adrift. I found myself without portfolio, as it were.” Again, his dark eyes met Grace’s. “I couldn’t very well come back and beg Mosh Zu for forgiveness.”
“You should have come back,” Grace said. “Mosh Zu would have forgiven you.”
Olivier shook his head. “You’re wrong, Grace. I’ve known him a lot longer than you. And I know full well that, once he is crossed, mercy is not one of his finer qualities.”
Though it galled her to admit it, Olivier spoke the truth. But this was not a line of discussion Grace was keen to pursue.
“So where did you go?” she asked.
“I disappeared for a time,” Olivier said. “To lick my wounds.” He lifted his bandaged arms. “Not that my wounds then compared to these! I watched from the shadows as the changes coursed through the Vampirate world, and it gradually fractured into one of Vampirates and Nocturnals. When war came, I joined up like all good Nocturnals.”
Grace was surprised by this. “You’re a Nocturnal?” she said.
“Why, yes,” Olivier said. “Do try to keep up, Grace. I told you before. When I left with Sidorio, he sired me.”
“No,” she said, firmly. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Did I not?” He shook his head, then shrugged. “Fancy that. Well, I suppose I’m not thinking as clearly as I might. Understandable, perhaps, under the circumstances.”
Grace nodded but reflected that Olivier was thinking very clearly indeed. She was fairly confident he was playing mind games with her. Did he want her to think he was a dhampir, or had she framed that thought for herself? Whichever, it seemed she now had her answer—he was a Vampirate, converted by Sidorio, even though he had referred to himself as a Nocturnal.
“You know, of course,” Olivier resumed, “how the Alliance has installed a Nocturnal on every pirate vessel, to work with the pirate crew on attack strategy and so forth.”
Grace nodded once more. This had been Lorcan’s idea—one born out of the effectiveness of his own joining of forces with Cate.
“Well,” Olivier continued, “there you have it. I was assigned to Jack Fallico, captain of The Evening Star. And there I stayed, playing my part, until Lola Lockwood and her vile acolytes decided to pay us an unexpected call. They made short work of the crew and the captain. As for me, well, I hardly think I need furnish you with the details.”
“No.” Grace found herself shuddering at the brutality of Lola and her crew. Worse still was the thought of how close she herself had come to being one of their pack.
“I’m bored with all this talk of me and my dreary journey,” Olivier said now, though he never seemed bored when talking about himself. “Much more interesting to talk about you and how you’ve changed beyond all recognition from that wide-eyed little girl I led across the mountain, foraging for berries.”
“It wasn’t that long ago,” Grace said. “A few months at most.”
“It was a world ago, Grace,” Olivier said. “And I speak as an immortal when I say that. Time passes rather differently for us.”
“I know,” she said in an impassioned voice, once more irritated by his superior tone. She realized he was staring at her curiously now. “I know,” she said, rather more gently. “I’ve been around Nocturnals and Vampirates for some time myself.”
“Indeed,” Olivier acknowledged. “You know, I was a little jealous of you when you first arrived here.”
“Yes, I realized that,” she said.
“In some ways, it’s your fault that I betrayed Mosh Zu. I was always his favorite before you arrived on the scene.”
Grace was surprised by his candor but infuriated by his attempt to implicate her in his rebellion.
“You said we were ‘in-betweens,’ ” she reminded him. “You always implied we had a particular bond.”
He looked at her with obvious disdain. “Oh, I tried to bond with you, because those were my instructions. But, really, I had my own work to do and—to be honest—it was so tiresome having to stop and explain everything to you.”
Grace bit back her anger. This was not at all how she remembered their time together.
Olivier nodded. “Remember when I showed you how to make the elder salve for your ailing boyfriend?”
She nodded.
“And look at you now. I expect you could knock up a vat of the stuff in your sleep.” Before Grace could think of an appropriate response, Olivier continued. �
��I’m impressed, Grace. It’s clear that Mosh Zu’s faith in you was more than justified, though I don’t say that easily. You do have the makings of a healer.”
Grace had allowed most of his barbs to wash over her, but she had too much pride to let this one pass. “I am a healer,” she said, fixing him with her eyes. “I healed you. When the ambulances arrive here, all patients are classified according to the severity of their wounds. You were a Platinum case—the second-most-severe kind. That’s why they assigned me and my team to treat you. Otherwise, well…”
Olivier nodded. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard the feverish whispers that you are Mosh Zu’s second-in-command these days. And I’m grateful to you, I truly am.”
This paltry offering was clearly as close as he would come to thanking her. He had turned away from her. His hand stretched toward the muslin drapes around his bed. He pushed back one of them and peered out at the ward. Holding the curtain open, Olivier turned back to face Grace. “This is quite a setup you have here. Tell me, how many patients do you treat each night?”
Grace shrugged. “It varies,” she said. “Last night was particularly busy—though we’ve had worse. Sometimes the bell just keeps going and we don’t get much rest between arrivals.”
Olivier nodded and looked once more through the gap in the curtain before letting it drop. “Does Mosh Zu know that I’m here?” he asked.
Grace paused. “Perhaps, though I haven’t seen him myself since I healed you. As I said, it’s been a busy night and day and we’ve all had a lot to contend with.” She paused. “But, when I see him later, I’ll be sure to tell him.”
Olivier shrugged. “As you wish. Just don’t get your hopes up for a bedside reunion.”
Grace couldn’t help but smile. Olivier was so eaten up with bitterness, and more egocentric than ever. “We’re in the middle of a war, Olivier. I’m just here doing a job. You were brought to me on a slab, on the verge of oblivion. I caught you and brought you back. You must rest now, and, in a matter of nights, you should be well enough to go on your way.” She smiled, sensing that at last she had gained the upper hand. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must check on my other patients.”
Olivier nodded. “I’ve taken up enough of your precious time, I know. Besides, I’m tired now. It was intriguing to catch up with you, but, as you say, I need my rest.” With that, he closed his eyes and turned his bandaged head to the wall.
Grace’s eyes lingered on him for a moment. Then she turned to make her exit from his stifling cocoon. As her hand reached out to the muslin, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow engineered this return to Sanctuary. To have done so, he would have had to inflict those injuries upon himself or, more likely, had others do so. It seemed inconceivable, but where a mercenary like Olivier was concerned, you just couldn’t apply normal rules.
What could his reasons be for undergoing such physical punishment? Could he still be working for Sidorio, despite his story to the contrary? Was he some kind of spy?
As she strode through the center of the ward, her path bordered on either side by other cocoons of white muslin, Grace found herself back inside Olivier’s vision. Once more she saw him waiting for her to depart, then crouching down and reaching for that book. Could it be that that slim, cloth-bound volume was still here at Sanctuary, hidden under the counter on which she and her fellow healers created their healing potions? Had Olivier endured all this to come back and reclaim the book? If so, it must be extraordinarily powerful. She couldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands.
11
CAMP DECIMATION
VAMPIRATES’ TRAINING CAMP,
ATAFUTURA ATOLL
Sidorio stood at the edge of the atoll, watching the jewel-like surface of the ocean. He could feel the burning heat close around him. The night was warm, and the whole atoll had been ringed with flaming torches to facilitate the night’s training. As he and Lola had sailed in on The Vagabond—the last of the ships to drop anchor around the atoll—it had seemed to him that the ocean itself was on fire. The sight had pleased him—a portent of the deepening conflict. Once, thanks to the scaremongering of others, he had been afraid of fire. Now he knew that, like so much else, it was nothing to be afraid of. He was beginning to realize there was nothing he could not overcome if he put his mind to it. Perhaps one day soon he would break the ultimate taboo and walk out proudly into the daylight. At last, after so much wasted time, he felt he was finally coming to understand what being immortal really meant. That he felt these things, he knew, was all thanks to one extraordinary person.
He could see her now, still some way away, walking toward him across the surface of the water. Burnished by a strip of moonlight, it appeared as if the ocean itself had rolled out a golden carpet for Lola to walk to shore upon. As she strode nearer, Sidorio smiled, seeing her familiar black-heart tattoo and the beauty spot at the side of her mouth as if for the first time. Her face was as luminous as the moon. Every time he gazed upon her, it felt like a miracle. Or, rather, two miracles: the first to have found her at all; the second to have succeeded in bringing her back from the void.
Lola was followed by two of her closest aides, Nathalie and Jacqueline. Each was a rare beauty, but Sidorio only had eyes for his extraordinary wife. She was looking lovelier than ever tonight, in a flowing gown in many shades of blue. As she stepped from the water onto the sand, it seemed as if she had fashioned her clothes from the ocean waters themselves. She stood there for a moment, catching her breath after such an intense effort of showmanship, and smiled to see her husband waiting for her. Though she had walked some distance across the surface of the ocean, her boots were still bone dry.
“Ready to inspect the troops?” Sidorio inquired, extending his arm.
She nodded, looping her own arm through the crook of his. She glanced over her shoulder to check on Jacqueline and Nathalie’s progress. Reassured that they had now joined her on the sand, she allowed Sidorio to lead her off into the melee.
The whole atoll was alive with movement and noise as the swarm of Vampirates got stuck into their nighttime training session. The air rang with the clashing of swords and other noises—cries, roars, and the ominous, more subtle, sound of weaponless combat. The crews of some twenty Vampirate ships had disembarked here tonight for this latest bout—designed to sharpen their fighting skills and also their bloodlust.
As Sidorio and Lola strode among them, followed close behind by Jacqueline and Nathalie, the warring Vampirates were careful to make room for their revered leaders. Sidorio slowed his pace to observe a particularly vicious duel.
“Go on, my son!” he called out. “In for the kill! Show no mercy!”
Lola laughed. “This is only a training session,” she said. “You don’t actually want them to destroy their own comrades, do you?”
Sidorio turned to face his wife. “Darling Lola, Camp Decimation is based on principles derived from the Roman Army. By the close of play tonight, I want the weakest ten percent of our troops destroyed. That’s how you keep your army on its toes.” Smiling, he added, “If you want a solution, always look to Rome.”
Lola raised an eyebrow and reached out her hand to toy with the line of chunky medals pinned across his chest. “No one could argue that the Romans didn’t leave us a potent legacy.” She smiled. “I’m impressed, husband. It seems you’ve been making some interesting changes.”
Sidorio nodded, his eyes turning from his wife back to the duel being enacted before their eyes. “War is a state of constant change,” he said. “And I intend to win this war.”
Suddenly the Vampirate Sidorio had urged on before broke free and attacked his opponent from a new angle. As he did so, he opened his mouth and bit off his opponent’s middle finger.
Lola and her aides gasped in surprise. Sidorio only laughed. “There you are, ladies. I give you the principle of decimation in practice. Removal of a tenth.”
Lola shook her head fondly. “Sometimes I forget what a brute you are, Sid.” She
stroked his serge sleeve tenderly as they continued on their way. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“Commander!” came a cry. Johnny marched out of the fray to greet Sidorio and the others.
“Stetson!” Sidorio exclaimed, pulling his comrade into a warm bear hug. “How’s it going with the new recruits?”
“Same old, same old,” Johnny said, bowing courteously to Lola and her aides. “The landlubber Vampirates are still coming to grips with the rudiments of swordsmanship. But there are a few stars in the making. Take a look at these two over here.” He pointed to a muscled young man locked in a fight with a lithe older woman.
“What’s their story?” Sidorio asked, his arm draped casually over Johnny’s shoulder.
“The blond guy, Skawen, is an old vamp,” Johnny said. “Viking stock, so no stranger to fighting, pillaging, and the like. He’s been landlocked for centuries but he was made to be on our team.”
“And his sparring partner?” Sidorio inquired.
“Martha Corey,” Johnny said. “She’s an interesting one. American by birth. Hanged in the Salem witch trials but didn’t go gentle into that good night.”
“Good for her!” Lola said. “Look at the fire in her eyes. If you hadn’t already recruited her, Johnny, I’d take her for The Vagabond.”
“She’s yours if you want her,” Johnny said, in no doubt of the hierarchy.
“That’s very kind of you,” Lola replied. “But I’m happy enough with my current crew. She’s all yours, Johnny. Cherish her!”
Johnny nodded. “I will.”
Immortal War v-6 Page 8
