by John Booth
“Working under you is more likely. Has she had her face in your crotch again, pledging her loyalty?”
“Han No had it right with you. A good beating seems to be the only thing you understand.”
Peter regretted his words before they were out of his mouth, but he knew this situation couldn’t go unresolved.
“Typical fucking male. If you can’t win an argument, resort to violence,” Sal shouted in his face.
Peter turned away and began to walk back to his horse.
“Is that it?” Sal screamed at his back. “Run away from me as soon as it gets a bit tough?”
“I’ll arrange for you to return to Earth,” Peter swung up into his saddle, “or anywhere else you want to go.”
“But I want to be here with you.”
“Then get on your horse and come to Tallus. But if you can’t act civilly, I’ll make you leave.” Peter turned his horse towards the road and urged it to walk on.
It’s not easy to remount a horse if you are a complete amateur. It was ten minutes later before Sal managed it and by then Peter was out of sight. They were riding through woodland and the road twisting and turned with the contours of the land,
Peter rode into Tallus on his own. He lifted up in his saddle and turned to see if Sal followed him, but there was no sign of her.
Tallus looked like something out of the sixteenth century. The houses were wattle and daub with the timbers painted black and the rest whitewashed. The streets were paved, but narrow. All around him, carts without horses moved like cars back on Earth. The carts moved at about the same speed as cars despite the lack of engines or anything pulling them.
Peter urged his horse into the town square. A market was in progress, which looked pretty much like a market back on Earth, except that the tenting around each stall was held in place with wooden poles instead of tubular steel. He tied his horse in reach of a brimming stone water trough and decided to wander round and take in the sights.
All sorts of bizarre produce were being sold. The fruit and vegetables were different from those he knew back in England. In the castle, he’d been served exclusively Earth food. He took it for granted it was grown on Hellogon. It was becoming clear the servants had served him Earth food as some sort of gesture and avoided home grown food.
There were stalls selling cloth and clothes of various kinds. Some were clearly of Earth manufacture. A vampire was a rare sight in the market. Perhaps only one in ten or one in twenty had the facial markings that identified them. Peter assumed most of the people in the town must be Warlocks, but it was difficult for him to tell them apart from humans. He could hardly order passers by to strip to check for body hair. His mother somehow deduced Sal was a Warlock, but she hadn’t told him the secret of how she did it.
It was easier to find Warlocks among the market entertainers. They gathered crowds around them while performing. They were certainly Warlocks because they were doing street magic, but not as it was done on Earth.
Two men created fireworks in their hands and threw them into the air. Fire Dragons flew from their hands followed by incandescent tortoises and fat pink pigs. A brightly dressed woman conjured coloured water shapes from a bucket. Green snakes rose from it followed by the heads of lions roaring silently at laughing children before slumping back and becoming water again.
The woman with the bucket stood by a tavern called The Warlock Unsucked. Peter decided it was time he met the locals and figured the tavern was as good a place to start as any.
The tavern was quiet after the noise of the market place. Groups of men sat at tables with flagons in their hands. As he made his way to the bar, he heard scattered bursts of laughter.
Peter jostled the people at the bar to get to it. The patrons moved aside easily enough. He wasn’t noticed at first, but the barman looked at him with widening eyes.
“What the fu… Hey, lad’s we’ve got a Vampire in here. And a baby one at that.” The barman sounded astonished. “This isn’t a good place for you, little Vampire. I’d fly away home before a big bad Warlock spanks your little bottom, or maybe sticks a stake through your heart!
Ribald laughter rose around Peter and he found his face growing red under a barrage of insults. These people knew full well Vampires could be killed like any other mortals and it didn’t require sharpened sticks, but the Earth legends were well known and considered hilarious.
“I would like a pint of your finest ale, barman,” Peter demanded, determined not to be cowed by a bunch of local drunks.
“It wants a drink now,” The barman said laughing. “We don’t serve your kind here. Go and find a Vampire tavern. They can offer you a pint of blood!”
The laughter in the tavern swelled at the barman’s joke. Peter felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find an enormous bear of a man behind him. “Give the boy a drink,” the man said, “A Vampire should always have a last drink before he’s crushed.”
“I didn’t come looking for trouble.”
“That is a shame, because you have certainly found it,” the massive man replied, “Your kind killed my wife and eldest son last year and you dare to walk into a Warlock tavern in broad daylight and ask for a drink? If you’re lucky, I’ll let you drink it before I tear you to pieces.”
“And how many Vampires did you kill before they got your wife and son?”
The man looked upwards as if counting in his mind, “No more than three, I’m afraid. But I’m sure I can bring that up to four today.”
A flagon of beer landed next to Peter’s arm, splashing beer over his shirt. “Sorry about that,” said the barman. “I’m always a bit clumsy when I’m around a sucker.” The crowd laughed hysterically.
“Drink up,” the massive man urged, “I don’t have all day.”
“If we fight, I may have no choice but to kill you,” Peter told the man seriously. The crowd found that as funny as the barman’s jokes and burst into laughter again.
“If you beat me in a fair fight these people will let you go,” the man said, “but that won’t happen because a Vampire whelp could never defeat Jorge Dallman.”
Loud cheers greeted the man’s name. Peter knew this Warlock must be famous. However, he was soon going to be famous for losing a fight. Peter downed most of what beer remained in the flagon and wiped the foam from his mouth. The crowd moved back to give them room. The way they were anxious to keep their distance suggested to Peter he should watch out for Warlock magic as much as anything else.
Dallman lunged to grab Peter in a bear hug. There was no room to fly in the low roofed tavern so Peter crouched low instead and used Dalman’s momentum to tip him head over heels. The crowd roared good humouredly, pleased Peter was going to make a decent fight of it.
“Flip this, little Vampire,” Dallman said as he created a stream of fire and aimed it at Peter’s chest. Peter tilted through ninety degrees as he had against Lord Baldan and the stream went past him. Someone behind him screamed in agony. Dallman cut off the flame and Peter flung the same force at Dallman that he used to subdue Ilarna.
Dallman put both his arms in front of his face as if fighting a stream of water. As Peter’s energy levels fell, Dallman moved his arms and laughed. “A good try, little Vampire, but Warlocks know many defensive spells.”
However, it seemed defending himself against Peter drained Dallman of his magic and the two set about fighting like humans. Peter’s superior combat training kept Dallman from getting a fight ending hold on him, while Dallman was so big that Peter’s offensive moves were equally ineffective.
The two staggered around like drunks. “You fight well,” Peter told Dallman.
“As do you, little Vampire. May I know the name of the one I’m about to crush?”
“Well, I don’t know who that guy is, but my name’s Peter Craig.” Peter said.
“You’re the new Lord Cragus?” Dallman asked incredulously.
“I hope to stop the fighting between the Vampires and the Warlocks,” Peter said grimly.
“How do you think I’m doing so far?”
Dallman decided the time for talking had past and launched a massive punch at Peter’s head. Peter moved to one side and used his fingers to perform a nerve pinch on Dallman’s neck. Dallman fell to his hands and knees as he tried to resist the pressure Peter exerted. It looked as though he might succeed when Peter felt a strange urge come over him.
Dallman gasped as his life energy started to flow into Peter. For Peter it felt like sex. No, he corrected himself. It was better than sex. This was total orgasmic ecstasy. He burned with it as he sucked Dallman’s life force from him. He felt his feet leave the floor as the energy became almost too much to take.
“Peter, stop,” Sal screamed. “Please stop, you’re killing him.”
Peter opened his eyes, though he didn’t remember closing them and saw Sal’s face. He let Dallman go and floated on air, full and happy. The world felt so good to him.
“You’ve killed him,” Sal said as she knelt down and felt Dallman’s neck.
Peter didn’t believe it. How could feeling this good kill somebody? He looked down at Dallman’s body, which he thought looked cute. Like a big dog fast asleep. He dropped to the floor and touched the man. Sal was right. He was dead. No, not dead, but as close as made no difference… unless.
Peter fed Dallman’s energy back into him. The world drained of colour, light and happiness. Dallman gasped and began to breathe again. Peter let go of him and took Sal by the hand.
“Let’s get out of here,” he told her, and led her from the tavern.
The men in the crowd moved out of their way as they approached the door. They looked at him in a way that worried Peter almost as much as the migraine headache threatening to take his head off.
When they reached the market place Peter retched into the gutter, heaving his stomach dry. The beer burned his throat.
“They shouldn’t let young ones drink like that,” the Warlock woman with the coloured bucket of water said disapprovingly.
Chapter Twenty
Dallman
Peter vomited into the gutter. His headache subsided but he felt dizzy and a jagged line of sparkling nothing moved across his field of vision. It was travelling fast enough to disappear in a few minutes but right at that moment, it made it very difficult to see anything.
“What did you do?” Sal asked. “Vampires don’t have the power to bring the dead back to life.”
“He wasn’t dead. I gave him back what I’d taken from him,” Peter said when he could stop heaving for long enough to complete a sentence. “If I’d known this was going to happen, I’m not sure I would’ve bothered.”
“Vampires can’t give back someone’s life force. They can only take it.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because… everybody knows that. It’s never happened before or we would’ve heard of it.”
“I think you’re confusing something Vampires almost never do with what can’t be done. I don’t believe I’m special, but I’ll ask Ilarna when we get back.”
Sal folded her arms in front of her and turned her back. Peter grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. “If you can’t get over this insane jealousy of Ilarna, I’ll send you back to Earth. Do you understand?”
Sal humphed in annoyance but unfolded her arms. “Okay, but if that bitch gets her mouth around your cock, I’m cutting it off. Do YOU understand?”
Peter nodded. He wasn’t attracted to Ilarna though intellectually he could see she was a beautiful young girl with exceptionally pretty breasts. It just wasn’t important.
Peter’s vision cleared and though he still felt as if he was recovering from a week of influenza, he also thought he could get to his feet. As he did, a newly familiar voice spoke.
“That’s how I feel, little Vampire. I thought I had the worse of it, but now I am not so sure.” Jorge Dallman’s voice conveyed deep feeling. Peter turned around to face him, not sure if he would have to fight this enormous Warlock. If so, he was certain he would lose.
“Giving it back is no picnic.” Peter wondered if he was up to running away.
“So it would appear. Perhaps we can talk, rather than fight. I’m feeling a little under the weather myself, as it happens.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea.”
“I’ve a room in the tavern we can reach without being seen,” Jorge offered. Peter waved him forward and nearly fell over. Jorge caught his arm to steady him and nearly fell over himself. The two men staggered off around the tavern, arm in arm.
“Isn’t that typical of bloody men? They try to kill each other and then they go off like they’re brothers. And does anybody invite the girl who saved both their lives to come with them?” Sal said caustically as both men staggered out of sight. She was debating whether to follow them when Peter and Jorge’s heads reappeared around the corner.
“Are you coming with us or what?” Peter asked.
* * *
The room in the tavern was small and comfortable. Its walls were lined with oak panels while in the centre of the room a large round wooden table with chairs dominated. Peter, Sal and Jorge spread around the table with Jorge facing Peter.
There was a knock at the door and a buxom serving girl entered, human, if the look of fear on her face was anything to go by. She brought a pot of tea with cups, milk and sugar on a wooden tray. She put the tray down on the table carefully, as though her life depended on it, before fleeing from the room.
“I noticed my name meant nothing to you,” Jorge said as he poured the tea out into the cups and passed the milk pot and sugar bowl around to Sal, obviously not planning on using either.
“I noticed it meant a lot to the other Warlocks in the room,” Peter replied. He put a little milk in his cup and brought it to his lips. “Ah, Rooibos tea, how strange to find it here.”
“I developed a taste for it years ago and a friend brings it into Hellogon for me,” Jorge replied as he savoured the tea in his own cup. “Even in an endless war, one should take time to act civilised.”
“I wonder if our friend is a mutual one,” Peter mumbled.
“Who cares about the fucking tea?” Sal said angrily. Peter and Jorge carried on as if she hadn’t spoken at all. If anything, Sal found their response more irritating than if they’d shouted back. She rattled her cup in its saucer while the two men carried on talking.
“My name is Jorge Dallman, and it caused a stir because I am the leader of the Warlocks not allied with Han No. The Council keeps telling me we should strike to kill you. I find it amusing that you nearly killed me when we finally met.”
“Now why would killing me aid the Warlocks? All I’ve done since I arrived is to prevent Lord Baldan and the other Vampire Lords from striking at you.”
“If you ally the Vampires with Han No then all the independent Warlocks will be killed. There is no doubt the Vampires would make better servants of the Dragon than the Warlocks.” Jorge explained patiently.
“Tell me, Jorge, how long do you think the Great Game has been going on?”
Jorge seemed nonplussed by the change of topic. He looked at Peter and decided this was not an idle question. Peter was leading up to something and Jorge decided to find out what. “It has been going on throughout history,” he replied.
“No, it hasn’t. It hasn’t been going on for more than a few hundred years. Any longer and you’d all be dead. As it is, Hellogon won’t have four species on it for more than twenty years.”
“Just because you believe it, does not make it true.”
“Consider this. If the Vampires wanted to build another castle like Castle Cragus, could they do it?”
Jorge considered the question. He still didn’t see what the boy was leading up to, but could see no harm in answering the question. “No. We would harass them into failure. We couldn’t risk the creation of such a fortress in our enemy’s hands.”
“And yet Castle Cragus exists, as does Zandar, which from all accounts is simi
larly fortified.” Peter sat back and waited to see how Jorge would respond.
“Our strongholds must have been there forever,” Jorge concluded.
“No, they haven’t. Castle Cragus is only three hundred years old at most. I can tell by the construction techniques and the shape of the arches. It was built after the age of castles ended on Earth. There are no older parts of the castle, so it wasn’t an incremental build. I would bet money the fortress at Zandar is just the same. The question is, how did they get built?”
“My question back to you is why does it matter?” Jorge banged his fist on the table, “I don’t see what you’re trying to prove.”
“Zandar and Castle Cragus exist because once upon a time, not more than three hundred years ago, the various species of Hellogon lived together in some form of peace. Probably an occasionally fighting kind of peace, but it was peace nevertheless. This town is a good example. It was built before you chose to start a genocidal war, a war that has nearly accomplished its purpose. Look at your surroundings. You live on top of each other, even your strongholds are only a few miles apart.”
“There are old stories…” Jorge mused, “but I still don’t see where it gets us. The Vampires are bent on the destruction of the Warlocks.”
“And yet there are more of you than there are of them,” Peter pointed out.
“We breed faster than them, and Han No replenishes our supplies so we can fight the war.”
“If Han No wasn’t doing that, what would have happened?” Peter was curious to know whether Jorge could reach the correct answer.
“We would be dead,” Jorge said flatly.
“I think you’d have negotiated terms of surrender with the Vampires. The Vampires would, no doubt, have treated you badly for a while. But as you pointed out, you outbreed them. By now the Vampires would have given you back your freedom because there would be too many Warlocks to fight.” Peter paused for breath.
“This world would be populated by millions of Warlocks and Vampires and everybody would have far too much to lose to embark on a destructive civil war. Even after centuries of pointless warfare, you still choose to live together in this town. War isn’t your natural state of being. You’re being manipulated.”
