by Nathan Spain
Gregario raised his palms defensively. “Let’s not be too hasty here. As commander of our forces, it behooves me to think strategically, and if it’s like you say, a war with two other clans would surely be more perilous for us than a fight against the humans.”
“But if it means bending to intimidation…” Callidora’s voice sounded deeply worried. “They’re right, Gregario. If we were to cave under pressure from the Nightcloaks and Blackwings, then we might as well just hand over control of the clan to them while we’re at it.”
Draven took a deep breath and gathered himself. “Sir Gregario, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but if ever there was a time to see eye-to-eye, this is it. I understand your reluctance to endanger the clan, but to take the path of least resistance is its own form of defeat. If we do not fight back, we become complicit in both our own oppression and that of others.” He stepped forward, looking Gregario in the eye and spreading out his arms as he spoke. “This isn’t a choice between endangering ourselves and protecting ourselves – it’s a choice between the possibility of defeat and the certainty of it.” He dropped his arms again. “I know which one I prefer.”
“Selene would want us to take the chance,” Ariadne chimed in. “She wasn’t afraid to stand up to Thanatos at the lodge. She wouldn’t want us to give up now.”
With a faint sneer, Gregario said, “You seem very eager for a fight. Hostages be damned, is it? I’m surprised. Perhaps you don’t care if they kill Selene, but I would have thought that you held other lives dearer.”
Ariadne froze midway through gathering breath for a retort. She tilted her head, looking up at Gregario quizzically. “What do you mean, other lives? We didn’t mention any other hostages.”
Gregario glanced away, his mouth a thin line. “Ah, no, I suppose you didn’t. I mean, I assume there would be others…”
There was a look on his face Draven had not often seen there – the uncomfortable look of a man who has just made a mistake. To Draven, who knew Gregario well, it stood out like the glare of a red warning light, a crack in the smug facade. He had been so calm up until now. Unusually calm, for someone who has just been delivered such dire and unexpected news. Unless…
Gregario shifted in his chair under their probing stares, but then smiled sheepishly. “Oh, very well. I guess there’s no point keeping it from you any longer. Your father is still alive, Ariadne.”
The declaration seemed to hit Ariadne like a stone. Draven watched her stunned face, her thought process manifesting on it as competing flickers of hope and suspicion.
Callidora, on the other hand, was not quite speechless.
“How could you possibly know that, Gregario?” she said, rounding on him.
Gregario’s smile widened, and the sight made Draven’s stomach drop. “Well, I suppose you could say a little bat told me. A little bat whose friends should be here very soon…”
Draven grabbed Ariadne by the arm, leaning in and hurriedly whispering to her, “It’s a trap. We have to go.”
He turned, pulling her along beside him, but they didn’t make it far. Mere seconds after they stepped toward the exit, the door burst open.
A crowd of about two dozen vampires flooded into the room, draped in hooded Nightcloak robes and holding swords. At their head stood a squat man with a familiar, sickening grin plastered on his face.
“Well, well,” said Lord Brone. “Look what we have here. So nice of you to save me the trouble of a search.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Brone eyed the Winebloods with the expression of a cat who just cornered a particularly plump mouse. It was a look not improved by the ruins of his maimed eye; he had not bothered to cover it with a bandage or eye-patch, and the blind, punctured eyeball gave him a ghastly appearance.
The naked steel of his blade was stained conspicuously with crimson, as was the front of his cloak.
“Looks like I have perfect timing,” Brone drawled. “I’ll confess I was worried we’d be late. But thanks to this marvelous gift from Lord Thanatos, we were able to travel by foot in the daylight.” He held up his arm to indicate the shimmering, hooded cloak he wore. “They reflect the rays of the sun, you see. A minor advantage, but enough to catch up to your head start. And here y’all are. Couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Callidora demanded, rising to her feet. “How did you get in here?”
“Your guards outside this room are dead, I’m afraid. I assume, given the hour, that the other residents of your charming home are asleep upstairs. I suggest you be sensible and surrender peacefully, and we won’t have to slaughter them like we did their kin at the lodge.”
Callidora looked like she had no intention of surrendering peacefully. Her eyes narrowed, and she bared her fangs in a furious snarl. “Guards,” she yelled.
The Wineblood guards along the hall stood with their swords drawn, tensed and waiting for the order to attack.
But Brone, flanked by his equally well-armed men, barely spared them a glance. “You’ll have to forgive us, Madam, for dropping in on you unannounced like this – though not entirely uninvited, am I right, Gregario?”
Draven, huddled close to Rosanna and Ariadne, shot Gregario a look of cold fury. “You sold us out.”
Brone cracked his neck, grinning with a satisfied air. “I sent a spy here as soon as we arrived at your lodge, to offer Sir Gregario a chance to be on the right side of history. Thanatos seemed to think he would see things our way. And if he hadn’t…well, it would have been too late by that point to warn anyone.”
“You betrayed us, Gregario?” Callidora growled.
Gregario shrugged. “I knew we would never agree on this matter. I couldn’t risk you interfering.”
“Of course I wouldn’t agree with this. This is treason!”
“I prefer to think of it as adaptation. Selene was right about one thing. Times have changed, and we need to change with them.”
“You have a duty to my sister. You’ve been at her side for decades. How could you stab her in the back like this?”
“My duty is to my clan,” Gregario spat. “Selene was soft. This whole summit of hers, this whole notion of living in harmony with humans – it was ridiculous. She would have had us give up our very way of life. I care too much about the clan to let that happen.”
Not as much as you care about yourself, Draven thought darkly. Aloud he said, “So you’re willing to join forces with our enemies? And once you’ve helped them obtain their goals, then what? Coups don’t usually end with a return to the previous government – which means a vacancy on that throne next to you. What did it take to shift your loyalty, I wonder? What did they offer you in return?”
Gregario’s tone was cold and measured. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Draven, but you had best be careful. Some of us have a place in this new world, but others…others are still clinging to a role they have long since outlived.”
Brone smirked, and his grip on his sword tightened. “Stand down and surrender, and no more Winebloods will have to die for their pride.”
“Enough,” Callidora barked. “You will find, Lord Brone, that Clan Wineblood does not give in so easily to threats and intimidation.”
Just as forcefully, Gregario interjected, “Yes, you do. You must. Callidora, please, don’t let yourself end up in history’s graveyard. Join me in allying with Brone and Thanatos, and one day soon we can all rule over a new golden age for vampires.”
The look Callidora leveled at him was cold enough to turn water to ice. “All things considered, I think I’d prefer the graveyard. Build your golden age if you like, but you’ll have to build it on top of my tombstone.”
“So be it,” Gregario said bitterly, getting to his feet and drawing his sword. “You have the right to throw your life away, I suppose. But remember, I didn’t force you to choose such an outcome.”
Struggling to keep his disgust out of his voice, Draven called out, “No one is
forcing you to do this, either. You have just as much choice here as Callidora. More, in many ways.”
Gregario looked at him and shook his head. “Oh, Draven. You were always stubborn…and foolish. You should have stayed in exile.” He turned his gaze to Brone. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Wait,” Ariadne shouted, addressing Brone. “I need to know…Gregario says my father still lives. Is that true?”
Brone grinned at her hideously, and Draven resisted the urge to rush over and punch his teeth in. “Hello, little firebrand. I was hoping we’d meet again. If you’re worried about dying along with your friends here, don’t be. I’ve got other plans for you. We have unfinished business, you and me.” He indicated his damaged eye.
“Yeah, we do,” Ariadne said. “You’ve still got most of a face. Answer my question.”
Brone shrugged, as though the matter was of no great concern. “He was alive when I last laid eyes on him. How long he stays that way is up to Lord Thanatos – and up to all of you, I suppose.”
Draven stepped toward Ariadne and put a protective hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, and he saw the worry in her eyes that she had refused to show to Brone. “My father, Draven,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said gently, and he could feel the same heartbreak stabbing at him even as he spoke. “I know, Ari, but we can’t let him threaten us. Think about what Damian would say. What would he want you to do?”
He knew what Damian would want her to do, and he knew that she did as well. But he also knew that she would do practically anything to save her father. Just as he would do anything to protect her.
She took his hand in her own and squeezed it tightly. He saw tears beginning to well up in her eyes, even as her face hardened with determination.
“What are you waiting for?” Gregario snapped at Brone. “Get on with it.”
Brone smiled, an evil look in his eye. “With pleasure.”
Callidora drew her sword. “Winebloods, to arms!”
The Wineblood guards assumed battle positions as the Blackwing soldiers faced them with weapons raised.
“Kill the grunts,” Brone shouted to his men, “but leave Rosanna alive. We need her. And the girl – she’s mine.”
As Callidora leapt down the stairs to face their attackers, Rosanna eyed the sword in her hands. “Don’t suppose you have more of those lying around?”
Callidora glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll hold off Gregario and Brone. Help keep the others from being overwhelmed. We can win this if we turn the tide quickly enough.”
“Great,” Rosanna muttered. “Here we go again…”
Draven looked at Ariadne by his side; she returned his glance with a wordless, decisive nod.
In the blink of an eye, the tension in all their coiled bodies erupted into swift, chaotic violence.
About a dozen of the Blackwings engaged the Winebloods down the hall, their swords clashing, while Callidora charged to meet Brone and Gregario. Unarmed, Draven, Ariadne and Rosanna held back, waiting for the fight to come to them.
And come it did. A trio of Blackwings rushed forward to meet them, swords in hand. Draven’s opponent swung high, and Draven swiftly ducked under the stroke, only to spring up and headbutt the man in the face. His foe staggered back, and Draven seized his opportunity. He sprang forward, grabbed the man’s wrists in an iron-firm grip, and sank his teeth into the vampire’s exposed throat. The man screamed as Draven pulled back, taking a chunk of flesh and blood with him. Draven quickly wrested the sword from his injured enemy’s grasp and lopped his foe’s head off with a single, smooth stroke.
He glanced over to his side. Ariadne ducked and leapt backward as her opponent slashed at her in a frenzy. She kept just out of range of his blade, but rapidly lost ground as he forced her back toward the wall.
Draven sprinted forward without hesitation. Ariadne’s back bumped up against the wall – she was weaponless with nowhere to run as the Blackwing raised his sword…
Draven’s blade thrust into the man’s back and burst out of his chest so forcefully that he was lifted off his feet. Ariadne quickly took the Blackwing’s sword and drove it into the underside of his jaw and out the top of his head.
He went limp and hung there for a moment, skewered and impaled, sandwiched between the two blood-spattered vampires, until with a simultaneous yank, they pulled their swords free and let the body fall to the floor.
“Thanks for the assist,” Ariadne said with a lively grin. Killing people seemed to be lifting her spirits immensely.
Disconcerted by the savage glint in her eyes, Draven mumbled, “Any time.”
Momentarily free from attackers, they took the chance to scan the room. Between them and the dueling forces at the far end of the chamber, Callidora single-handedly fended off Brone and Gregario. Draven knew she was a skilled fighter, and she moved gracefully and lightning-fast to deflect both Gregario’s high strokes and the shorter Brone’s low slashes. But with two against one, it was only a matter of time before she made a mistake.
Up the stairs by the throne, Rosanna danced away from another Blackwing’s attacks. Still weaponless, she picked up one of the chairs as Draven and Ariadne watched, and held it defensively in front of her like a shield, blocking her opponent’s frenzied blows.
Draven met Ariadne’s eyes. “Go,” he said, jutting his chin toward Rosanna. Ariadne nodded and took off like a shot to lend aid, while Draven did the same in the opposite direction. Sword held high, he sprinted toward Gregario and Brone.
For a moment he thought he’d be able to get the drop on them and end it quickly, but at the last second, Brone turned his head and spotted Draven coming. He twisted around just in time to block Draven’s incoming stroke with his sword. Sparks shot off steel blades, the vibration of the impact resonating down Draven’s arms. They broke away, each leaping back a step, and circled each other warily, while a short distance away Gregario continued to lock swords with Callidora.
Grinning at Draven from behind his sword, Brone spoke over the loud shouts and clangs of metal that filled the room. “You’re lucky, you know. Your death is gonna be quick. That little firebrand you’re so fond of, not so much. I think I’ll start by taking her eyes…”
“Shut up and fight,” Draven growled.
Brone smiled and stepped backward, extending his sword hand out to one side of his body…and leaving his other side vulnerable.
What kind of fool do you think I am? Draven thought. All right, then. If that’s how you want to play it, I’ll call your bluff.
He charged, aiming a blow at Brone’s unguarded side, but ready to switch motions in an instant should Brone leap away and aim a slash at his left.
Only Brone didn’t do that. Instead he jumped straight up and tucked his legs under him like a child playing jump rope. Draven’s low swipe passed right under him.
In the moment immediately following the failed slash, Draven was off-balance and left wide open to attack, with his arm across his chest. He saw Brone’s smile widen, and he saw him pull back his sword, the tip pointed at Draven’s belly. He was going to be skewered, just like Thanatos had done to Selene at the lodge…
There was no time to avoid the blow entirely, but Draven threw all his weight to one side as Brone thrust the point of the sword at him. The stab that had been aimed for his stomach instead hit him right between the ribs. He stifled a cry of pain as the blade passed through the side of his torso and out the back.
Brone had moved in close to Draven in order to stab him, and his sword was now buried in Draven’s body. Before Brone could pull it away and rip Draven’s side open, Draven swung his arm in the opposite direction from his previous slash, back to the right.
The pommel of his sword smashed into the bridge of Brone’s nose, and Draven heard the crunch of bone shattering.
Brone staggered back, releasing his sword to clutch at his face.
With a roar of agony, Draven grabbed the hilt of the sword buried in his ribs and p
ulled it out of his body.
“Should have aimed higher,” he snarled through the pain.
Brone looked up, clutching his nose, and for the first time, Draven saw fear in the Blackwing lord’s eye as Draven advanced on him with a sword in each hand.
Draven raised his blade, but before he could strike, something hit him hard in the back and knocked him to the floor. He winced as the wounded side of his body hit the hard surface. For a disoriented moment he thought he was under attack, before he recognized the person who was now sprawled on top of him. It was Callidora. Gregario must have knocked her off balance, sending her crashing into Draven, for now he advanced on them both, while Brone, a bloodied smirk on his face, retreated.
As Draven struggled to push Callidora off him and stand up, Gregario raised his sword above them, preparing a fatal stab.
A shout of fury echoed through the chamber as two shapes hurtled into the fray: Ariadne and Rosanna. With a flash, Ariadne’s sword slammed against Gregario’s blade so hard it was wrenched from his hands with a deafening clang and went flying across the room. At the same time, Rosanna dropped low, twisted her body, and spun her sword in a fast arc that sliced through the tendons on the back of Gregario’s legs. He dropped to his knees with a pained cry.
Ariadne put the point of her sword under his chin, pricking the Adam’s apple of his throat and tipping his head up.
Draven clutched Callidora by the arm as they helped each other stagger to their feet. “Thanks, Ari. Guess I owe you one.”
She laughed, her face flush with adrenaline. “Who’s keeping score?”
Draven shook his head in a gesture of mild astonishment. “When did you learn to fight like that?”
“I told you,” she said with an easy grin. “You missed a lot.”
It wasn’t the first time Draven had felt somewhat in awe of her, but the vampiric Ariadne seemed to inspire that feeling even more than she had as a human. He had to admit, she wore this violent life well. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
