Sunset (Pact Arcanum)

by Arshad Ahsanuddin

  “And my staff members?” asked Lorcan, already knowing the answer. The ticking of the watch was loud to his enhanced senses in the otherwise silent room, and Lorcan felt each second like the blow of a hammer, nailing his coffin shut.

  “We could not allow them to live. Their discovery could have jeopardized the operation.” Brion checked his watch and nodded in satisfaction, before slipping it back into his pocket. “Now I have little time, and a great deal to accomplish. Are you ready to assist me in my duties?”

  “Naturally, Master.” He finally glanced at the other vampires in the room. He recognized them all; the senior spellcasters from half a dozen houses. There was no way they would cooperate in a joint effort without a direct order from the Court of Shadows. “My Lord, may I ask the nature of this operation?”

  Brion reached out and picked up a plastic card from a wooden stand in the center of Lorcan’s desk. “Lorcan, do you remember the day we first met in person?”

  Lorcan stiffened. “Yes, Master.”

  “As do I. It was the night I gave the order that you be restrained, to prevent you ending your life after the death of your human mate. I did not inquire, at the time, as to his name.”

  “Connor, my Lord,” Lorcan said without emotion.

  “You had shown such magnificent potential, even so early on in the second life; I did not wish to lose such a valuable resource. I have not regretted that decision, not once in four hundred years.”

  “My Lord does me too much honor.”

  Brion turned the plastic card over in his hands, so that the Journeymen logo and the word “security” showed clearly in the dim light. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “Of course, Master.”

  “Are you in love with Nicholas?”

  Lorcan felt his heart stop, and then race wildly. “My Lord?” he asked weakly.

  Brion turned toward him again, dropping the security pass carelessly back onto the desk. “I have followed your career for almost four hundred and fifty years. Your brilliance and skill have been unsurpassed by any Nightwalker it has been my honor to work with. But you lacked passion, ever since that night we first met. You were a banked fire, for all that you continued to climb steeply upward through the ranks. Honestly, I am surprised you were content to remain at Consul rank for so long.

  “Originally, I thought I might be forced to have you killed, in case you attempted to challenge me for leadership of House Diluthical. But, after a time, I realized you had reached the limit of your ambitions. It was prudent, given your youth and the power of those senior to you, but it was disappointing to see your career stagnate.”

  A soft chime sounded throughout the city, echoing from the stone walls, marking the sunrise. To the Nightwalkers, the predominant population of the city, it was a moment that symbolized violent death.

  “And then, six years ago, you began an aggressive campaign to rise to the rank of Primogenitor. It took me almost a year to realize what had changed when you initiated your drive to stand at my right hand. Suddenly, you had fire again. You burned with passion and ambition. You maneuvered Nightwalkers three times your age into compromising positions and eliminated them. You dueled over and over again with remarkable recklessness to thin the ranks between you and your goal. If I had not named you to your current position, you would undoubtedly have decimated the strongest members of my house in pursuit of advancement.”

  Lorcan said nothing. The vampire lord’s carnelian eyes held him fast, seeming to lay bare all his sins and failures. Something terrible was approaching, and Lorcan was helpless to avoid it.

  “That transformation took place immediately after your mission to recruit the Magister Luscian to our cause. In your report, you stated that you had initiated a sexual relationship with him, which you felt could be the basis for progressive influence in the future. That relationship was one of many factors in appointing you to be our Ambassador to the Triumvirate, although your obvious diplomatic credentials were the primary determinant. Our intelligence since then has indicated you have restored that relationship—even built upon it—expanding your influence to the point that Nicholas is quite trusting of you.

  Brion’s voice dropped into a lower register, betraying his anger, but he remained perfectly, inhumanly still, his gaze steady and unyielding. “Conversely, however, his influence on you has been reported to be substantially greater. You have displayed significant behavioral changes in his presence over the course of the past two years, changes I would not have believed if the information had not been corroborated by many sources. Because of those reports, your loyalty has been widely questioned throughout the Court of Shadows. I have been hard-pressed to defend you, given the evidence. You do not treat him as an assignment, Lorcan.” Brion stepped closer and stared into his eyes. “You treat him as your mate.”

  Lorcan forced himself to speak through his own wintry dread. “I do not understand what you wish me to say, Master.”

  “I wish you to answer my question.” Brion’s voice remained even despite the power of the threat implied by his words. “Are you in love with Nicholas? Is he, in fact, your mate?”

  Lorcan’s mind scrabbled for some evasion, some way to deflect this line of inquiry, but his thoughts were frozen. And then it was too late. He witnessed the exact moment his Master took his hesitation for assent, and knew that he was lost.

  “Oh, Lorcan,” said Brion, sighing. “You could have been among the greatest of us, and you have thrown it all away for a Daywalker half-breed.” He pulled a chair forward and made himself comfortable. “Ambassador, I have direct orders from the Court of Shadows, and I regret to inform you that your assistance will be necessary to carry them out.”

  “What does my Lord require of me?” Lorcan tried to salvage some honor from his abject failure.

  “The Court of Shadows believes it is finally time to express our displeasure to Nicholas Magister Luscian over his actions of the last six months.” Brion looked at him with pity as he explained in detail what he needed.

  Horror rose like bile in Lorcan’s throat as he listened. “No, my Lord. Please, no.” He fell to his knees as tears of blood coursed down his cheeks. “Show mercy, Master. Please, I beg of you. I cannot do this. Find someone else.”

  “There is no one else. Your knowledge of his thought processes and your personal influence will be necessary for the plan to work, otherwise he might decline, regardless of the cost to his honor.”

  Lorcan got shakily to his feet and wiped away his tears with his sleeve. He faced Brion squarely. “Master, I refuse.”

  “You refuse,” Brion said with only mild interest. “You have sworn your honor to my service. Does your word mean so little to you?”

  “My Lord, it means nothing to me at all. I will not serve.”

  “Lorcan,” said Brion sternly, rising from his chair, “your assistance is necessary, not your cooperation.”

  Before Lorcan even had time to think, the compulsion spell the eight spellcasters had created before he entered the room snapped tightly around him. He collapsed on the floor as he was bound, and his conscious will was locked away, screaming.

  Brion regarded him dispassionately. “Get up.”

  Lorcan got to his feet.

  “I have told you what I require. Now, based on your firsthand knowledge of Prince Nicholas and his protectors, tell me the most likely way I can successfully achieve it, as well as any possible difficulties you can anticipate.”

  Lorcan began to speak.

  CHAPTER 18

  July 2040; Armistice Embassy, Washington, D.C.; Four hours later

  Jeremy lounged on the comfortable couch in Nick’s office and watched the formal ceremony on the virtual screen suspended over the desk. Months of work had culminated in this moment—recognition of the Triumvirate as a foreign government in a ceremony at the National Mall—and he didn’t want to miss a second of Nick’s triumph. He just wished he could have gone in person. He rolled his eyes at his own foolishness. Who
knew being a wanted terrorist could have a downside?

  On the screen, Nick was flanked by Scott and Ana. Takeshi also stood behind them, ostensibly one of Nick’s guards but actually there to demonstrate to the watching Armistice population that the Triumvirate fully supported Nick’s actions. On a whim, Jeremy extended his thoughts to find the familiar light of Nick’s mind, halfway across the city.

  He gently inserted his mental probe into the Daywalker’s mind, and eavesdropped on the psychic connection between Nick and Scott. Water, he corrected himself, not Scott. The shift in Scott’s personality when subsumed in the Wind link was obvious; the Sentinel’s mind operated on an entirely different level from human thought while interlaced with the collective consciousness of the Winds. Jeremy didn’t intrude further, knowing that the presence of a foreign element in the Wind link would be immediately detected. Instead, he concentrated on looking through Nick’s eyes while the vampire was distracted, watching as Nick nervously ran through his speech over and over again while he waited for his turn to speak.

  National Mall, Washington, D.C

  After the formal ceremony, Nick watched anxiously as President Daniels addressed the assembled members of the press. Earth, Water and Fire stood behind him, propping him up with their psychic support via Nick’s link to Water, while Air reached out with his mind from Anchorpoint and carefully scanned the crowd and the surrounding buildings for any threats. While even their most basic kinetic shield spells would stop a sniper’s bullet, it never hurt to be prepared.

  Then it was Nick’s turn to speak. The vampire stepped forward to the second podium, opened his mouth, and then stopped as a wave of magic rolled over him. In less than a second, Fire’s hand seized his arm as she tried to teleport the four of them away. Nothing happened.

  Letting go of Nick, she turned to Earth. “Teleport blockade. We cannot pass.”

  The three Sentinels took up positions around Nick, calling their weapons to their hands. “We’re under attack,” Earth urgently informed the Secret Service agents, who watched in consternation.

  A sudden, cold wind began to blow as the agents burst into motion, hustling the President away. The sky darkened ominously and storm clouds obscured the sun.

  In the center aisle, between the two blocks of reporters, a white haze appeared and then coalesced into the figure of a man wearing a black suit and black gloves, his face shadowed by a cowl. An unsheathed sword, the intricately inscribed blade chased with gold, gleamed in his right hand. Reaching up with his left hand, he pushed back the cowl, revealing his features.

  Nick gripped the sides of the podium, the soft wood deforming under the pressure of his grasp. “Lorcan?”

  “Prince Nicholas.” Lorcan’s expression was aloof, arrogant even.

  Nick stepped around the podium, his confusion obvious. “Why are you here, Ambassador?”

  “I have come to deliver a message from the Court of Shadows.”

  Nick schooled his expression, his face a mask of polite neutrality. He didn’t bother hiding his emotional turmoil from the Sentinels. “And what does the Court have to say to me this day?”

  Lorcan sneered. “The Court of Shadows objects to this alliance. Humans are prey, to be dominated and nothing more. You disgrace your bloodline to treat with such filth.”

  Nick laughed, genuinely amused. “Forgive me if I fail to take offense at this slight to the reputation of House Luscian. They were monsters, the lot of them. They disgraced themselves by their very existence.”

  “You are a shame to your house, Nicholas. You have no honor.” Lorcan’s smile was predatory.

  Nick’s thoughts slammed to a halt as if he had been thrown into a wall. “Ruarc! What are you doing?”

  “I am merely stating a fact, Magister Luscian. Do you have anything to say in response?”

  Nick marched toward Lorcan, his eyes blazing as he glared at his lover. Over the link, the Sentinels were battered by his barely contained fury. They stepped forward as one, maintaining their positions relative to Nick. The Daywalker felt the four Winds monitoring the surroundings for lines of attack, in case Lorcan’s words were a diversion; the Court was hardly known for frontal attacks. Nick knew that objectively, but he was too overwhelmed with rage to give their suspicions any weight. Coming to a halt six feet away from Lorcan, he addressed the Nightwalker with deliberate calmness. “Walk away, Lorcan Primogenitor Diluthical. I heard nothing but the wind.”

  Lorcan chuckled. “Then I will repeat myself more clearly.” He drew himself up and raised his voice. “Nicholas Magister Luscian, you have no honor.”

  Water felt Nick’s intent and tried to dissuade him. “This is a trap, brother. Do not walk this path.”

  “I accept your challenge.” Nick smiled widely, displaying his fangs.

  The Wind link fragmented as Scott withdrew from the mental fusion and his human personality reasserted itself. “Nick, no! Don’t do this!” The Sentinel sheathed his knives and reached out to grasp Nick’s shoulder, trying to drag the vampire around to face him. Nick, his eyes still boring into Lorcan’s, pulled away.

  “I am a Head of House,” Nick answered. “Protocol requires me to answer a challenge to my honor.”

  “That’s Court of Shadows protocol, not Armistice. You’re not one of them!” Scott pleaded desperately. “You don’t have to follow their laws!”

  Nick’s scarlet eyes stared intently at Scott for a moment. “I am both Court and Armistice, Consul. This is part of what I am.”

  Lorcan laughed. “You have the right to choose the time and place. Will you hide behind the Winds until they find a way to kill me secretly, or will you face me here and now?” He looked around at the reporters, the cameras turned to record their every move. “If you value them so much, let the humans see. Show them what you really are.”

  “By all means, Lorcan.” Nick snarled. “Here and now is acceptable.” He turned to face Take. “Takeshi Nakamura Leshir Jiao-long, may I have the honor of your sword?”

  Take looked at him, and then at Scott, who was watching with disbelief. Reversing his grip on his katana, he held it out to Nick. The faint ripple in the spellworked steel caught what remained of the light as Nick weighed it up in his hands. “Kick his ass.”

  Holding the sword in his right hand, Nick casually walked past Lorcan to the grass beyond the blocks of chairs. Take followed just a few paces behind, waiting. Lorcan trailed after Nick, taking up a position ten feet away. Cameras tracked their movements as the reporters left their places to stand silently around the periphery of the open space.

  Nick raised his arms, the sword glinting in his hand. Behind him, blue flames spread out in a half circle fifteen feet across. “Two have entered,” he said, invoking the combat ritual.

  Lorcan copied his movements, and green flames spread behind him in a mirror image, forming a circle of fire around them, half green, half blue. Then Lorcan did something unexpected. Driving his sword vertically into the ground, he strode stiffly through the green flames to the outside of the circle.

  Nick stared at him, his mouth agape. Then the air shimmered between them and Brion appeared in the exact spot where Lorcan had been standing. “One will leave,” Brion said, completing the spell, his fangs extended as he smiled in triumph.

  The green and blue flames ran together, and the circle burned white. Brion grasped the grip of Lorcan’s sword and drew it from the earth. Beyond the white flames, Lorcan collapsed as his body was wracked by convulsions.

  Ana knelt next to him, laying her palm on his chest. “Neuromuscular feedback,” she said aloud, alerting Nick that their temporary link had been interrupted. “Compulsion spell. The control weave was severed when the circle closed.”

  Nick looked at Brion. “Who are you?”

  “I am Brion Magister Diluthical, called the Prince of Dread,” the other vampire stated. “I assert my privilege to stand as Champion to any honor combat on behalf of a member of my house.” He raised Lorcan’s sword. “You will face me now
.”

  Staggering drunkenly to his feet, Lorcan screamed and lurched forward to pound his fists against the invisible barrier that rose out of the white flames. “NO! No, my Lord, please. You can’t!”

  “I will deal with you later, Lorcan,” Brion said icily, not returning his gaze.

  With fangs and talons extended, Lorcan clawed desperately at the barrier and howled at his Master, “Brion Magister Diluthical, you have no honor!”

  Brion turned to face him, red eyes meeting red. “I accept your challenge, Primogenitor. You may fight me after I have disposed of your upstart Daywalker.”

  “I will kill you for this, Master.” Lorcan wept in impotent fury. “I swear it! You will die today, even if you win.”

  “I think not, Lorcan.” Brion’s lip curled in disdain. “Instead, I will be rid of two thorns in my side, instead of one.” He turned back to Nick. “Shall we begin?”

  Nick moved in a blur. His sword struck like a cobra, drawing on the full power of his Gift and the theoretical knowledge of countless duels absorbed from Luscian. Turning Nick’s sword aside, Brion reversed his cut, slashing back to slice through Nick’s shirt as the Daywalker leaned away from the blade at the last minute. The two stared at each other, each coldly appraising the other’s skill. Blood oozed from the shallow cut on Nick’s chest. The Daywalker dabbed at the red stain without looking down and then casually brought his fingers to his lips. “Tesiar poison?” he asked, tasting the blood.

  Brion smiled cruelly. “It has its uses, especially to prevent regeneration.”

  “Clever,” said Nick, as he swept the blade of Takeshi’s sword in a figure eight before him. “By all means, let us begin.”

  They moved simultaneously, too fast for human eyes to follow. The metallic clang of their swords was the only sound as they circled again and attacked. For nearly ten minutes, the ringing of their blades filled the air as the vampires lashed out at each other, both struggling for supremacy.