by Jack Conner
"Who are you?" he called again.
"Don't worry about who we are, Darkling," one of them shouted back. "Just freeze where you are. We’ll take care of the rest."
"Like hell.”
He gestured, and the arms of the nearest trees snaked out and clutched at the quartet of winged beings. They squealed as the rough limbs seized them, but Ruegger knew that this was only a temporary solution.
A fifth winged creature dropped from the sky through the ring of imprisoned jandrows and flew straight at him. Ruegger noted a long, massive jaw extending from a flat, sinister head. It was, of all things, the head of crocodile, with the thick body and powerful tail to match. Its enormous, bat-like wings billowed behind it as it drove at the Darkling.
Ruegger dove. He struck the ground and rolled fast, feeling the creature's presence close above him. He threw himself to his feet and swiveled.
The beast landed not ten feet away. As if about to pounce, it crouched menacingly, lashing its heavy tail with force. Though its body was very like that of a crocodile, its legs were longer and seemingly more agile, although they were thick, meaty and covered with scales. It was a jandrow, he thought uncertainly, and must be one of the few of their kind that could shapeshift. Not only this, but it appeared relatively old and quite able to match or exceed him in strength.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked, setting down the human that still slumbered in his arms. The man stirred and opened his eyes.
"Captain Raulf D'Aguila," the creature said through its enormous, smiling mouth, evil red eyes squinting at Ruegger in what he thought of as an authoritative manner. "I have come to take you in."
Retrieving the knife from its holster, Ruegger spat. “Then come and get me."
The creature raised itself to its full height and tucked its large wings carefully above its ridged back, all the while swiveling its head about playfully on a thick neck that seemed too long for the crocodile it otherwise resembled. In fact, Ruegger thought, it seemed very much like a dragon at the moment—an obese dwarf of a dragon that had spent too much time in the mud, bursting at the seams with puss and venom. It exuded an air of corruption.
Overhead, the other jandrows freed themselves from the wooden prisons Ruegger had created for them, but they made no move against him. Perhaps they were enjoying the show.
Captain Raulf D'Aguila launched itself high into the air, its great dark-green wings spreading out behind it. Its legs stood out from its body in postures meant to ensnare Ruegger. The legs were swift and powerful, the Darkling saw, almost like those of a frog. They ended in wicked reptilian talons, the foreclaws almost hand-like, while the hindclaws were meant for grasping and rending.
Ruegger dodged aside.
With shocking swiftness, the beast struck the earth and pivoted to face him, long mouth opening to reveal cruel teeth and an eager tongue. Noticing movement to its side, D'Aguila craned its head. Perhaps for the first time, it took note of the human that Ruegger had fed from. It turned back to face the Darkling, a knowing leer across its gargantuan face. The man, awake now and seeing the intentions of D'Aguila, tried to scramble out of the way, but the wreckage of his ruined limb wouldn't allow him to get more than a few feet.
"Leave him alone," Ruegger said.
The Captain pounced on the mortal, seizing the man's body with its talons. The creature rolled over onto its ridged back, holding up its squirming human prize high into the air for inspection.
"Let me go!" the man shouted, thrashing.
"No," the Captain said. “I don't think I will, not just yet."
Before Ruegger could stop it, the creature raised its wings so that they overlapped each other and brought up its tail to fill in the gap where the wings ended below. In effect, it concealed any sign of its human prisoner, unless one happened to be looking into the lethal cocoon from the direction of D'Aguila's head.
D'Aguila stuck its snout into the space between its wings and chest, its mouth opening wide. Ruegger felt certain that Raulf had performed this ritual countless times, that this was a sort of show he put on for the soldiers that he captained for. Ruegger heard a gruesome popping sound, then the noise of the human's blood spattering against the membranes of Raulf's wings. The scent of death filled the air.
The Captain unfolded its wings and lowered its tail, revealing the spectacle of the mortal's death to all present. Still held in the creature's talons, the headless corpse shuddered violently once, then sagged. Blood fountained from the open neck, subsiding gradually. The man's head, meanwhile, rested between the jaws of Captain D’Aguila. The beast turned its mouth toward Ruegger so that the vampire could get a clear glimpse of the terrified expression on the face of the deceased.
D'Aguila crushed the man's face between its molars a few times and swallowed the head whole. With a forceful kick, it propelled the rest of the body into the underbrush twenty feet away, rolled onto its feet and rose, its blood-spattered wings unfurled in triumph.
When D’Aguila burped—rather theatrically, Ruegger thought—one of the flying soldiers convulsed with laughter.
"I always did like an appetizer before my meal," commented Captain D’Aguila, and advanced on Ruegger.
Ruegger raised his knife so that it glinted in the moonlight. "Let's get this over with."
Raulf closed the gap. Above him, the jandrows trained their huge machine guns on Ruegger. He realized that even if he won, which seemed doubtful, he would lose.
To hell with this.
Without another thought, Ruegger turned and ran.
* * *
Once the door closed, the girl that looked like Danielle screamed and threw herself backwards.
Jean-Pierre winced. How many mortals had he heard issue that same cry?
But he would not kill her. What he and Ruegger had talked about after their scuffle—the conversation Kharker seemed so interested in—had to do with morality. Jean-Pierre spoke of the difficulties of staying moral, and his commitment to doing so, while Ruegger had assured him that commitment was the main part.
To be good, do good, the vampire had said.
And Jean-Pierre had no intention of betraying Sophia. Bad enough to have left her in order to do some soul-searching, but to kill an innocent? Never.
Never again.
What would Kharker think? Despite Jean-Pierre’s new morality, this question bothered him. He didn’t want to lose the Hunter’s friendship.
Wiping a hand across his forehead, he crouched next to the girl. “Remember me?”
She opened her trembling mouth—
“Fucking Kharker!”
Jean-Pierre slammed his fist against the wall. The Hunter had taken the girl’s tongue. Jean-Pierre breathed deep.
Looking into her eyes, he said, “I could make you what I am, an immortal. The curse—that’s what we call it—often corrects wounds and scars. A girl I know, she had scars all over her body from being beaten and raped. When Ruegger changed her to a vampire, the scars disappeared. So ... your tongue might grow back is what I’m saying.”
She stared into his green eyes for a minute, then shook her head.
Sadly, he nodded. “I think I under—”
BOOM!!!!
An explosion, from the direction of the wine cellar.
Jean-Pierre jumped to his feet. Putting a finger to his lips, he indicated for the girl to be quiet. She might not be able to talk, but she could still scream. With wide eyes, she obeyed.
Carefully, he opened the door and stepped into the hall. Lots of noise and activity. Something major was going on.
Footsteps.
He retreated back into the cell until he was sure the footsteps only came from two people. He waited for them to pass so he could glimpse them through the tiny window. When he did, he realized they were shades—maybe morbines or vampires.
He opened the door and ducked his head out.
“Hey!”
They spun, automatic rifles rising. Faster, Jean-Pierre grabbed both guns by their barrels,
tore them loose, tossed them in the air, reversed his grip on the weapons, and drove both rifles through the skulls of their former owners.
Limbs twitching, they collapsed. That wouldn’t hold them forever, Jean-Pierre knew. They would heal soon enough. He dragged them by their heels into the room.
“Sorry,” he told the girl. “I’d suggest you close your eyes. What I’ve got to do isn’t going to be pretty.”
Just as she closed her eyes, the sounds of more soldiers echoed through the catacomb hall. What the hell was this? A full-scale invasion?
* * *
Ruegger tripped and fell into a strange arroyo of some kind. With a start, he realized he'd stumbled into one of Kharker's irrigation ditches. The Lodge couldn't be far away. As he stopped and listened, he made out the sounds of gunfire coming from the direction of the estate. Something bad was happening there. Maybe the Captain's other soldiers had begun an attack on the Great White Hunter himself. Kharker could be in danger.
Climbing out of the ditch, Ruegger made his way toward the edge of the estate, wary now that the trees were thinning out. He paused on the border between the jungle and the swath of clear ground that ran around the Lodge and located the position of the catacombs opening, the logical place to enter. How was he going to cross the clearing without being picked off by D'Aguila? The only place that could offer any security at all was the temporary swamp that Kharker had had built for his alligators.
Glancing over his shoulders to ensure that the Captain wasn't at that very moment barreling for him, Ruegger dashed out from the cover of trees to the alligator pin that lay between him and the opening of the catacombs. He jumped over the short electric fence and splashed head-first into the mud. Quickly, he sent his mind out to fend off the alligators and subdue them temporarily. He wasn't the psychic dominator that Jean-Pierre was, but keeping some big lizards out of his way for a few seconds shouldn't be too hard.
He rose, covered in mud and alligator feces, and wiped at his eyes. There, shooting from the green canopy of the jungle, was Captain Raulf D'Aguila, big head grinning.
It shot straight towards the Darkling.
Ruegger used what influence he could muster to force the alligators to lunge upwards. D'Aguila hurtled straight toward the vampire. Ruegger flung himself to the side just in time to avoid the angry snap of his enemy's teeth. The alligators leapt at Raulf's leathery wings, and Ruegger grinned to see that there wasn't any loyalty between the different strains of reptile.
"Go get 'im, boys.”
Climbing from the muck once again, he bolted over the fence and tore his way across the clearing. He knew D'Aguila was circling back for him even at that moment and felt the hairs rise all along the nape of his neck as he heard the creature’s wings beating, louder by the second.
Something dark shifted at his feet, enlarging—the Captain's shadow, thrown by the moon. When the shadow grew so large that he could see where the moonlight filtered through its wings, Ruegger chanced a look over his shoulder.
The Captain was right there, long mouth open and green talons reaching for him.
Ruegger leapt forward into the opening of the catacomb tunnel, landing on his mud-soaked stomach and rolling. He let himself roll until the momentum wore off, then stood and looked about.
"Shit.”
The tunnel was too wide. When Raulf realized that its wings could fit in here, it would pursue him. Which would be in about fifteen seconds, if Ruegger accurately gauged how long it would take D'Aguila to circle back around again.
Ruegger ran. He fled down the long dusty corridor toward the wine cellar and the stairs that would lead up into the mansion, where he could hear frequent bursts of gunfire. He had to get to Kharker. Prisoners shouted at him as he ran past.
Just before rounding the first corner, he heard something behind him and turned to see D'Aguila.
It—he—had landed just outside the tunnel. Sizing up the passageway, the red eyes of the Captain gleamed when they fell on Ruegger. D’Aguila took a few running steps forward, into the tunnel, and launched himself into the air. The large wings almost touched the walls, but they fit. When they started to beat, the Darkling could feel their power from where he stood nearly a hundred feet away.
There wasn't enough air to support the Captain in beast form—at least not for long. D’Aguila flew a few yards, set down, then quickly launched himself into the air for another few yards. The sight was strange and halting, but, in his own surreal hopping manner, D'Aguila was covering the ground between himself and Ruegger very quickly. In a few moments, D’Aguila would be on him.
Ruegger ran. He rounded the corner and pelted head-first into a pair of soldiers coming his way. They weren't jandrows, but, by the look of them (rough and ungroomed, as if they'd been living in the jungle) they certainly weren't Kharker's men. They must be with D'Aguila's party—sentries, perhaps, sent to guard the opening of the catacombs while their comrades battled within.
The sentries, if that’s what they were, raised their weapons. Ruegger tore the machine guns from their grasps and continued off down the hall. He could hear them running after him but didn't care. He was older and could best them easily. Suddenly, he heard screaming behind him and knew that D'Aguila must have just bounded past them.
"Jesus!" one cried.
"It's the Captain!"
Ruegger ran faster, not paying attention to the prison cells he flew by or the various alternate tunnels that emptied into this main one. As the tunnels grew narrower and crazier, he was sure that he'd put some distance between him and Raulf. Then, not as far behind him as he would've liked, he heard D'Aguila slam headfirst into an earthen wall as the Captain took a turn too fast. He grunted and continued fly-hopping frog-like after his prey.
Soon the rat-tunnels spilled out into Kharker's legendary wine cellars. Ruegger found himself in the large main chamber. Damn. The ceiling was too high to afford him much protection from the Captain. Also, the stairs that led up into the mansion were way on the other side of the room, and it would take him some time to thread his way through the rows and rows of wine to reach them.
He darted down one row, then another, making his way toward one of the many smaller tunnels where Kharker kept the most expensive wines of his collection. Narrow and low-ceilinged, they were the best refuge from his antagonist.
Behind him, he heard an explosion of breaking glass and running fluid as D'Aguila knocked his careless way into the room. Ruegger glanced into the air to see his reptilian persecutor leaping into the air and catching the air beneath his wings with grace and might. D’Aguila began flying back and forth over the rows of wine, hunting the Darkling.
"Fee fi fo fum!" D’Aguila shouted. "Come out, come out, wherever you are! If you don't, I'll only make it worse for you. Show yourself, Darkling! Or are you the worm that I think you are?"
Ruegger pointed both the machine guns in the air and waited for his chance. When the Captain floated over his position, he fired, the force of the guns knocking him back a foot. The rounds lanced through Raulf's flesh and scales. Screaming, he flew to the side and out of the Darkling's narrow field of fire.
"Die, worm!" D’Aguila shouted. “Soldiers! Find the worm and kill him!"
Ruegger dropped the guns and ran, darting through the fragile pathways, priceless bottles of wine to both sides and earthen floor beneath. He zigzagged his way through the maze and was going so fast that, when the enormous hole became visible to him, he was already teetering on its rim.
Below him dropped a cavity, an opening in the earth at least fifteen feet across. It looked like it had been caused by an explosive of some sort. The shaft ran down for about twenty feet, then connected to a passageway leading to one side.
This was where the soldiers had entered, Ruegger realized. Their time in the woods hadn't been in wait, after all. They’d been digging. They’d dug a tunnel almost to the stairs that led up into the mansion, then blown their way into the wine cellar with a bomb.
Which could onl
y mean one thing: aware of the presence of Kharker's new army, the attackers knew a direct assault would fail. That, at the least, it would be chancy. So they had chosen a sneak-attack. Their raiding party couldn't be much larger than the Hunter's home team.
So why had they wasted five men on Ruegger?
He edged his way around the crater—which had disrupted several rows of invaluable drink—and continued his trek toward one of the smaller passageways, where he might be able to lose D'Aguila.
Flapping.
Craning his neck, he caught a brief flash of Raulf's outline, then pitched himself forwards.
The Captain swept over him, pulling out of his dive with care. In the heat of the moment, its talons reached out and overturned one of the tall wooden racks of wine. The rack fell heavily upon the rack in front of it, which in turn toppled and fell on the next one. The noise was horrendous—wood and glass splintering loudly, while hundreds of gallons of the richest wine in the world spilled to the dirt.
What a waste. Ruegger dragged himself to his feet. He ran on through the maze, trying to find his way out. Once he had his bearings, he quickly found where the kingdom of the grape ended, at least for the moment. Beyond the end of this row stretched a wide walkway bordered by the earthen wall of the cellar. Not too far away, a hole in the wall signaled one of the smaller tunnels, where Kharker kept the good stuff.
Glancing both ways down the aisle and upwards just to be sure, Ruegger fled down the walkway, entering the narrow and low-ceilinged tunnel.
"There he is!" shouted D'Aguila somewhere above and behind him, directing his underlings. "Follow me!"
