Sunset (Pact Arcanum)

by Arshad Ahsanuddin

  The President raised an eyebrow. “Some of your press releases have mentioned the Court of Shadows, but they didn’t go into much detail.”

  “It’s the ruling body for Nightwalkers outside the Armistice Zone, made up from the heads of all the vampire houses. The Court makes all of the important policy decisions in Nightwalker society, such as settling territorial disputes and coordinating attacks against particularly successful Sentinel teams. Most of the Nightwalkers who reside in the Zone reject the Court’s authority and have renounced their blood ranks. These Nightwalkers go only by their given and house names; that’s one reason why the Court hates us so much, because we’ve shrugged off their domination. Our people don’t travel outside the Armistice Zone often because the Court tends to hunt them down and execute them as a matter of principle.” He shrugged. “I still use my title, Magister, to retain my legal standing while I serve as the Triumvirate’s Ambassador to the Court, but I’m more of the exception than the rule among the Free People.”

  The President poured himself another shot. “You’ve told me what a vampire is. What is a Sentinel, exactly?”

  “Sentinels start off as human, but each carries a powerful form of inherited magic known as the Gift. It was created to counter the power of the first Nightwalkers, so there would always be soldiers to fight against them. It’s passed down through all of the original Sentinels’ descendants in every generation, but it is recessive, only becoming latent when inherited from both parents. When a latent Sentinel meets a Nightwalker who is not shielding his aura, the Gift is kindled, and the Sentinel’s powers awaken.”

  “What kind of powers?”

  “The magic of the Gift becomes active in three stages, each of which takes several hours to complete. The first stage is a cascade of physical mutations that enhance combat attributes, such as strength, agility, endurance, and healing capacity. The second stage is the activation of a preprogrammed set of magical abilities, as well as the knowledge of how to use them. The third stage of mutation is the most important. Once complete, it gives the Sentinel immunity to vampire blood, so that he can’t be turned. It also draws a set of race memories into the Sentinel’s conscious awareness; these memories tell him exactly what he’s become, the truth about Nightwalkers, and creates a genetically programmed need to destroy them. The Gift turns a human into an instant killing machine, and then sets him loose to fight. They’re as governed by their instincts as the Nightwalkers are, but there’s no cure in sight for them.”

  “Unbelievable,” said the President and his eyes narrowed. “So the Court is your enemy. What about the Sentinels?”

  “Outside the Armistice Zone, most Sentinels officially despise us.” Nick sighed. “However, the Sentinels outside North America are loosely organized, usually defaulting to a small group of leaders within each city or region. Most don’t involve themselves in the business of other territories. Many are nomadic, following the hunt from city to city within their territories, as the Nightwalker population wanes in response to their successes. It wasn’t until the truce began to spread that the Sentinels of North America were able to get past their programmed imperatives and settle down. Even so, they continue to fight on in other ways. For example, most of them regularly donate blood, maintaining a supply so vampires don’t have to hunt humans.”

  Disgust flashed over the President’s face.

  “You must understand; the human blood you find in a hospital or bloodbank isn’t adequate to sustain a vampire. It requires magical preservation to retain its unique, mystical properties. Sentinel blood is more powerful, so can be used more sparingly. Donated blood is a way to keep the peace, a change in tactics for the Sentinels. It’s a different way to fulfill their function and satisfy the needs of the Gift without having to kill. Most of them are glad to make the sacrifice, if only for the chance to stop fighting and enjoy the human lifestyle they had before the Gift awakened.”

  The President sipped at his drink in silence. “If there’s a treaty in the States,” he asked finally, “what happened to you?”

  Nick avoided eye contact, staring at his hands instead. He took a deep breath. “Yes, I like scotch.”

  The President raised an eyebrow, but poured a measure of the amber liquor into the second glass and pushed it across the desk without further comment.

  Nick took a large swallow, and winced at the burn before closing his eyes in remembrance. “Remember when I said there had been only one major breach of the Armistice? That’s when I became a vampire.”

  President Daniels’ gaze sharpened at Nick’s sudden change in mood. “What happened?”

  “In 2033, the leader of the Court of Shadows was Luscian, also known as Soulkiller, or the Prince of Nightmares. He was the original Nightwalker, the oldest of the Firstborn. The one who started it all. His house has been the dominant force in Nightwalker society from the beginning. He hated the idea of the Armistice; thought it a perversion of the natural order of things, not to mention a challenge to his authority. So he came up with a plan to destroy it. He came to the Triumvirate pretending to negotiate a peace deal, but he actually intended to create a major breach of the Armistice and provoke the Triumvirate into war—a war he thought he would win. While within the Armistice Zone, he gave Armistice Security the slip and killed someone. Brutally. Viciously.” Nick’s hands trembled, despite his efforts to still them.

  Noticing his distress, President Daniels asked, “Who was it, Nick?”

  Nick paled, his eyes still closed. “It was me.” He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself protectively. “I try not to think about it.”

  The President showed no reaction to Nick’s admission of weakness. “What happened after that?”

  “War. The Triumvirate took the fight all the way to Luscian’s fortress in France, Castle Night. Once the Traveler got close enough to touch Luscian, he wiped out Luscian’s entire house, releasing the power of the Grace into the bloodline all at once. The Nightwalkers of House Luscian all fought against the Light, which destroyed them completely. Every one of them died, all over the world. Nightwalker history refers to that event as the Burning. It represented such an awe-inspiring exercise of force that the Court of Shadows has refrained from any further direct engagements with our forces, so far. I was the youngest of Luscian’s scions, and still the most human, so I was the only one to welcome back my soul—the only one to survive.

  “Unfortunately, the Traveler’s power doesn’t work on the Firstborn, so Luscian wasn’t killed with the rest of his bloodline. However, Shadowhunter fought him and managed to destroy his physical body.” Nick paused, and drank the rest of his scotch before continuing. “It wasn’t the first time Luscian’s body had been destroyed. When that had happened in the past, he would appropriate the body of one of his scions. This time, there was only one body left for him to take—mine. The Traveler and Shadowhunter lent me their strength to defend myself, and I managed to fight him off and finally kill him. Before he died for real, I stripped him of his knowledge and power, taking it all for myself. I’m now one of the strongest vampires in the world, despite being the youngest Head of House in recorded history.”

  The President looked at him thoughtfully. “Why you?”

  “Sir?”

  “He had the entire population of North America to choose from,” Daniels said, leaning forward. “Why did he choose you?”

  Nick weighed his options before answering. “Because of Rory.”

  “Rory Brennigan? Your Nightwalker spokesman?”

  “Yes. We’d worked together when he was still performing. We ran into each other again at an industry Christmas party and became friends. When that happened, I pretty much painted a target on my back. His other associates were strong, experienced Sentinels, but I was only human. Rory kept the truth from me, thinking he was keeping me safe, but really it just made me vulnerable. He was highly placed in the Armistice authority structure. Luscian’s spies discovered our friendship, and Luscian gambled that killing me
would drive Rory into convincing the Triumvirate to take military action. It worked.”

  President Daniels stretched his legs under the table and massaged his neck with one hand as he regarded Nick appraisingly. “Thank you, Mr. Jameson. This has been a most enlightening conversation.”

  Recognizing the polite dismissal, Nick placed his glass on the desk, and stood. “Glad to be of help, Mr. President. Feel free to call on me again if you have any other questions.” He turned and walked toward the door.

  “Ambassador…”

  Nick stopped and looked back at him.

  President Daniels smiled. “Don’t forget that autograph.”

  HOUSE CURALLORN SEAL

  CHAPTER 16

  May 2040; Armistice Security Headquarters, Anchorpoint City, Grand Mesa, Colorado; Four months after public exposure

  From the Council Chamber, the highest point in the central spire of the city, Layla gazed out through the panoramic flare-shielded windows at the Western Boulevard below. It began at the base of the central spire and circled out to the Anchorpoint Transit Hub, the center of their teleport gateway network on Earth. Although ostensibly watching the boulevard, her attention was predominantly focused on the information Scott was projecting. The Sentinel stood at attention in front of the conference table behind her, telepathically relaying Nick’s meeting with the President as experienced through Nick’s eyes and ears over their psychic link.

  Takeshi sat calmly in his place at the left side of the trapezoidal table. The Wind of Earth’s mind was blissfully silent as he meditated, idly tracing the ebony, ivory, and platinum inlays of the triskelion seal with his eyes. Occasionally, he paused to sip at his cup of jasmine tea, all the while passively eavesdropping on Nick’s conversation with President Daniels. Rory paced back and forth behind Scott, his thoughts fluid as quicksilver as he analyzed every nuance of the President’s response. Ever the artist, he mapped out the strategic implications in an elegant spatial matrix in their minds, forming the connections into the petals of a fractal rosebud.

  The subtle fragrance of jasmine, mingling with the heavy scent of the sandalwood table, filled Layla’s senses as she concentrated on the telepathic datastream. While she listened, she followed Rory’s tactical analysis. The Nightwalker’s ability was a holdover from his Sentinel Gift of Air, which he had retained even after Jiao-long had corrupted his spirit with the Red Wind, making him the only active Sentinel to have been turned in thirty thousand years of war.

  So much depended on this meeting, both on what was said and what was left unspoken. She didn’t need to be able to calculate Sentinel probability matrices to know that. Her own skills at strategic manipulation had been honed by five thousand years of experience.

  Known as Nemesis, she had ascended to mastery of House Curallorn more than three thousand years ago. She immediately set out to foster the reconstruction of human civilization, which had largely collapsed in the wake of the interminable wars that had followed the end of the glorious First Age. Most members of the Court of Shadows had dismissed her efforts, even as she succeeded in generating a wave of human social and technological advancement throughout sub-Saharan Africa. Then she had stunned them all when she had abandoned those societies to relocate her people to the minor territory of North America.

  They had called her move a mad gamble, but what she had wanted was a large hunting range out of reach of the Court of Shadows. America had all the characteristics necessary to serve as fertile ground to seed with the sciences of agriculture, construction, and trade, which she had nurtured for millennia in Africa, recruiting the greatest scholars and artisans to her bloodline. The mound-builder culture she created quickly eclipsed her greatest expectations. Layla had ruled her empire in daylight, safe in her underground fortress beneath the city of Cahokia, establishing herself as an underworld deity—the Old Woman Who Never Dies.

  Jealous of her success, Jiao-long Firstborn had expanded his territory from Asia to contend with her from the west. Using his influence in the Court, he had pressured the European Magisters to encroach on her demesne from the east. The devastating waves of internecine war he had set in motion were capped by the spread of disease following European colonization. In the end, he had succeeded in toppling the culture she had built, and Layla had been forced to the bargaining table. She and Jiao-long had divided the territory between them, along the line of the Mississippi River, which had been her greatest asset. How she had raged at her defeat, before throwing herself headlong into revenge. It had taken her only five hundred years to bring him to his knees. Even then, he had tried to undermine her victory by resorting to forbidden magic, the night she had met Rory and Takeshi in person for the first time.

  September 2020; House Curallorn Stronghold, Cahokia Mound City, Collinsville, Illinois; Twenty years earlier

  Layla sat in her sanctum, the apex of an inverted pyramid that extended deeply underground beneath the ruins of her great city of Cahokia. Bright tapestries and artwork from her client civilizations in Africa and America surrounded her and she stared at them in admiration as she sipped delicately at her goblet of bloodwine. The air was perfumed by fragrant woods, kept vibrant through magic, and the sharp tang of human blood. Layla watched as her forces surrounded Jiao-long’s stronghold. Using her spell-enhanced sight, she saw through the eyes of her Primogenitor, watching the red lights of her enemies perish one by one, dying at the hands of her hapless pawns. The light of their lives winked out as the Sentinel assault on the fortress continued.

  Within minutes, all the lives in Jiao-long’s fortress had expired, except for the three Winds she had entrapped and the greater light of Jiao-long himself. Layla smiled, idly wondering if they would be strong enough to destroy the Firstborn vampire. If not, no matter. She had already arrayed her forces across the mesa above Jiao-long’s base. As soon as either side was dispatched, she would strike to dispose of the other. It was only a matter of time until her dominion was complete.

  The light of Jiao-long’s life disappeared. Layla laughed out loud. It was done! The long game had finally come to an end—her opponent had been taken out of play. She was about to order her forces to enter the fortress and eliminate the Sentinels when she noticed one of the remaining three lives had changed, the light shifting from blue to red. A new Nightwalker? How could that be? The three mortals in the fortress had been Sentinels; she had seen to it herself. How could one of them become Red?

  Frowning, she watched as one of the blue lights went out. Minutes later, the other was also extinguished, leaving the red light alone in the fortress. They killed each other. Extraordinary. Could Jiao-long have found a way to turn a Sentinel? A fledgling’s instincts would be to destroy any life that crossed its path, so it was plausible that a new vampire could turn on the others. No, that is ridiculous. No fully-active Sentinel has been turned since the imposition of the Gift more than thirty thousand years ago. There must be some other explanation.

  The spell she was using to view inside the fortress suddenly flared and burned out, and the psychic landscape rang like a bell as she felt the sun rise in the middle of the night, even from more than a thousand miles away. The mesa overlying the underground chamber at the heart of Jiao-long’s fortress exploded upward. Fractured stone and debris rained down across her forces. The trees were flattened around the site of the detonation, creating a wide clearing in the forest. A column of brilliant light burst out of the crater like a javelin, spearing upward into the night sky and burning away the overhanging clouds.

  Fire and Darkness! A mystical shockwave of such power could only be the result of an extra-planar incursion—the intrusion of another order of reality into this dimension. One of the greater powers has intervened on this plane, for the first time in thousands of years.

  She ruthlessly focused her thoughts, abandoning her strategies. Incursions were always linked to great upheavals in history, sometimes to the rise and fall of entire civilizations. The origin of the event must be eliminated immediately if a
ny of us are to survive. All other concerns are secondary.

  Using the coordinates her Primogenitor supplied, she immediately teleported directly onto the battlefield and ordered her forces into the clearing. Just as she was about to send her forces into direct assault on the fortress, the white light of a teleport matrix formed in front of her. “Surround it!” she mentally instructed, as she walked forward alone to confront the threat. The light of the teleport matrix faded, revealing her three Sentinel proxies. Impossible. She had seen two of them die. What could it mean?

  As they became aware of her forces, she immediately cast the spell for a teleport blockade. Takeshi drew his swords with a curse. Attempting to teleport them to safety, Ana stopped as the jumper block solidified around them.

  “Peace, Sentinels,” said Layla, pitching her clear, musical voice so all could hear. “We have no quarrel with you. We only wish to talk.”

  “Ana,” whispered Takeshi, his low voice easily audible to Layla’s enhanced senses, “make a light.”

  Anaba raised her hands slowly and spoke into the darkness. “I am going to cast a light spell. It has no offensive potential.”

  “Proceed,” said Layla.

  Immediately, their surroundings were lit by a soft white light that emanated from nowhere in particular. Anaba’s light revealed the Nightwalkers, surrounding them completely in carefully regimented, concentric circles, layered deeply into the darkness beyond. Layla stood directly in front of them. At almost six feet tall, she knew she cut an imposing figure. A black cape covered her deep sapphire evening gown and her African features were enhanced by her tightly braided raven hair. She addressed herself to Take. “Takeshi Nakamura, called the Wind of Earth.”