When George returned from dressing herself and Tabitha she was surprised to see Gudrik still naked, leaning against the wall and casually chatting with Kahn. He had taken the time to make a coffee of his own, but the notion to dress himself hadn’t even crossed his mind yet. “Gudrik cover up, you’ll scare Tabitha!” she yelled. He mumbled something that was meaningless to her ears while fishing his clothes from under the table. He quickly stepped into the jeans and buttoned them up. Before he could put his shirt on George interrupted him. “It’s okay, you can leave the shirt off,” she whispered with a steamy wink as she slipped past him to the stove, running her finger lightly across his stomach. Paw and Kahn chuckled to each other.
The heated romance raged on for the next two months. Both George and Gudrik all but forgot the lives they had left behind. George no longer stressed about how she would manage to provide for Tabitha on her own or thought about when they would return to the city, she loved not going to work. Gudrik shelved his dreams of revenge. With the blood source gone, the spectre of death would be constantly shadowing Kyran, salivating at the chance to claim one who had evaded it for so long. The return of this most mortal of fears would be more excruciating than any vengeance which Gudrik could have personally dealt him anyway. Both George and Gudrik were far more content in their current idyllic lifestyle. They seemed a perfect fit. Whether it was because they were soul mates, kindred spirits or thanks only to isolation and absence of choice, a tender love bloomed between them. Although both would be far too pigheaded to ever admit it.
One day after returning from a morning of fishing, Tabitha and Pup were in the shade of the drunken shed helping Gudrik, scale and clean the day’s catch. George set about lighting and stoking the wood stove. Off in the distance, winding along the hilltop roads, Gudrik noticed the tell tale dust cloud of an approaching vehicle. “Kahn isn’t supposed to be back for another few days,” he grumbled to no one in particular. Gudrik’s spine tingled.
“Tabitha, princess, take this in to mummy,” he asked, handing her some fillets. It was an attempt to sound sweet, but when the words emerged from his gravely pipes they sounded more like something a serial killer would say. Cheerfully she complied anyway, skipping inside. “With her,” he grunted sharply at Pup. The massive wolf obeyed instantly, striding into the house. Gudrik dragged the filleting knife across his hand and squeezed a small amount of blue blood free. “Qriktsus!” he shouted as the drops landed. Thick, towering walls of jagged stone and earth leapt from the ground, surrounding and defending the small home like battlements.
Gudrik kept the knife in his hands and walked towards the dusty driveway which wound with unnecessary complexity into the property. As the mysterious vehicle came into view, it was clear that this was not one he knew. The black sedan rapidly closed in on the house, its ageing engine spluttering and coughing as it went. Its suspension squeaking and scraping as it bounced from pothole to pothole, only skidding to a halt centimetres from Gudrik.
He glared at the heavy coating of dust crusting the windshield, but could only make out shadows within. The driver’s door swung open and Gudrik’s hand tightened around the handle of the knife. Malaki’s head emerged. He relaxed his grip. The face which greeted him however was grim even for Malaki, not a face which foretold good news. Kahn climbed out of the passenger’s seat, sharing the grim look.
With a crack and a cloud of dust the stone defences collapsed back into the ground, once again revealing the home. “You bring news?” the Warlock asked. Kahn nodded. The rear driver’s side door of the car opened. Malaki glared furiously at Gudrik while his leader walked around the vehicle. Gudrik, not being one to retreat, glared just as hard back at him. Brood slid out of the back seat, just as grim and stained with blood. He turned and gently pulled Dorian’s limp, lifeless body from the back seat of the car. The other men leant in to help.
Dorian was wrapped in a bloodstained bed sheet, his skin pale, his face awash with all the symptoms of death. “Get him inside, on the table!” grunted Gudrik storming through the kitchen door.
“A heads up would be nice next time Gudrik,” snapped George as he walked in, “When those walls went up I nearly shi...”
“Not now George,” Gudrik interupted.
George immediately recognised the urgency and calmly shut Tabitha in the bedroom before coming back to join them. “Does he live!?” asked Gudrik.
“Yes, but he is not long for this world,” Kahn replied heaving his son up onto the thick, hardwood table.
“Open his mouth!” Gudrik sliced his hand open. Kahn clamped his son’s jaw, holding his mouth open as Gudrik leant over Dorian and ran a trickle of blue blood into his mouth. Dorian coughed, spluttered and weakly fought as the warm, salty blood ran down his throat. Kahn forced Dorian’s mouth closed so none could escape. Gudrik unwrapped the sheet, exposing Dorian’s bare, crimson smeared chest. The blood was seeping from under a wad of red, soaked gauze which had been strapped to the right side of his chest. The Warlock cut the cloth while holding it in place, then gently removed the bundle. The bullet wound had already begun to repair itself. Again he opened his hand running a thin stream of blood directly onto the wound.
“He will heal,” said Gudrik with a relieved sigh, “but the blood takes a toll when healing such a dire wound. He will need rest.” Kahn gave a grateful nod. “How did this happen?” asked Gudrik.
Malaki had bitten his tongue up until then and remained unusually silent, but at that question he spoke instantly releasing all of his pent up aggression in a single focussed tirade. “How did this happen!?” he roared. “What the fuck do you think we do when we leave here? We are out there fighting that deranged prick. While you, a god damn immortal, play on the beach and brag about how many mighty battles you have won. But what have we seen from you? Heh?” Gudrik was frozen in fury. “Exactly,” Malaki continued,”We haven’t seen shit from you. All you do is fuck your little modern slut all day long!”
Blinded by rage, Gudrik leapt across the table, his fists clenched. However, before the blow could be landed, Malaki was on the ground, his nose streaming blood into his mouth. He grasped at his face and looked up at George standing over him rubbing her blood spattered fist. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” she said glaring at Gudrik. He stepped back, fearing he may be next.
Gudrik sighed loudly as Malaki’s words rang in his head. He may have been a bitter bastard, but he spoke the truth. Gudrik was the big gun in this, the one who could truly make the difference and turn the tables in the fight. Yet he had done nothing. These people had provided him sanctuary and friendship and requested of him nothing in returned.
“He’s right,” Gudrik muttered eventually.
“Do I have to hit you as well!?” George snapped at him with a look which could strip paint.
“Not about you being a slut,” he quickly added, showing his hands as a sign of surrender. “I am oath bound to help these people in their struggle. He is an enemy of my creation.”
“Our numbers are too few to stop him Gudrik,” interjected Brood. He seemed broken, not his usual self. “We just spend our time nipping at his heels and pissing him off. We know he has been collecting ancient texts for centuries, trying to learn the secrets of your blood. He is up to something.”
“He hasn’t been looking for you as hard as we expected, it’s almost as if he doesn’t care you are gone,” added Kahn.
“It’s because the snivelling parasite is so close,” spluttered Malaki through his hands.
“Without me to bleed, his empire and all his plans are already in decline. Time will kill him for you,” Gudrik said, puzzled, “I don’t understand the continued fight.”
“Are you certain he swallowed everything he sucked from you?” asked Malaki. He had removed his hands but his crooked nose was still streaming blood.
The question set Gudrik’s memory racing over centuries of faded memories. A cold chill ran through him. “He often bled extra from me,” muttered the Warlock
, to himself rather than the rest. “I always assumed he was collecting it for his troops.”
“Does that sound like something he would do Gudrik?” proposed Brood. “We have shown that the blood can remain potent stored away from its source. Scurt even got some to last after his death.”
Gudrik examined his feet in thought. “It seems I’ll have my revenge after all.” It would be at the risk of his fragile new life, a life which finally contained everything he had ever dreamed of. “But if Kyran could use the blood......well, then nowhere would be safe for his new family.”
Gudrik raised his eyes to look at the group. “Where do I find him?”
“Are you insane?” interrupted George. “Things are different now. There is a hell of a lot more ways to remove your head than a sword today, and I guarantee you he has them all.”
“I am sure you’re right George, but this needs to be done,” he replied in a gruff, defensive tone.
“No Gudrik, I will not allow you to involve yourself,” interjected Kahn looking at the panic in George’s eyes. “I promised Scurt I would defend The Twelve. I am not going to allow the last one to perish under my watch.”
The Warlock turned to Kahn, “I am forever in your debt Kahn, but as I told you on the day we met, do not think you have the power to stop me.” It would have sounded threatening if not for the grateful smile on his face.
“Vision Haematological Engineering,” a breathless rasp drifted from the table. Dorian tried to sit up, but shuddered and flopped back to the table. George propped a pillow under his head and he shakily swept his fringe aside.
“Cut off from your blood, we thought his human body would begin to deteriorate, but Paw, Teefa and Neasa have been keeping tabs on him since your escape. He is as fit as ever.” Dorian coughed, grasping his chest. “It sparked a long held suspicion that he had been stock piling your blood Gudrik. We have been systematically infiltrating his facilities over the last few weeks. Looking for something, anything to tell us where this stock pile was.”
“He has become very good at keeping his secrets over time,” added Kahn.
Dorian nodded, “But last night, I think I may have found something. One of our friends stumbled upon the fact that Julian Drake is a silent partner in a company called Vision Haematological Engineering.”
“I’ve heard of them,” said George.
“He has shares in Apple too, doesn’t mean that iPods are powered by bloody Warlock blood,” snapped Malaki.
“Let me finish. The lengths he had gone to to hide it were excessive to say the least, but it gets better. They seem to specialise in biological R&D. They are worldwide, but the part which really sparked my interest was their multi-million dollar facility here in Australia. It was built right around the time Drake started moving his mining operations from Africa. Could be coincidence I know, but guess what this new facility specialises in.” The room hung silent, though most had already guessed the answer. “Blood research.”
Dorian fidgeted, and grimaced in pain. Gudrik studied the expressions around the room. He had taken little meaning from what had been said, though it seemed to make perfect sense to everyone else.
“It receives a lot of genuine research grants and has made some real progress in screening techniques and treatment of blood cancers, nothing that seems out of the ordinary.” He paused, rubbing his healing wound; it was a smear of blue and red. “That’s as far as I got before......well, this. The Sword got the jump on me before I could shift away; he’s quick. Coincidence or not, I think it warrants further investigation.”
“The fact that he even had a paladin there tells us a lot,” added Brood.
“Where do I find this place?” asked Gudrik.
“In the city, I can take you there,” replied Dorian trying unsuccessfully to stand.
“Grrr, you need to rest, I’ll fucking take him,” growled Malaki.
“No you stay with Dorian, I’ll take Gudrik,” ordered Kahn. Malaki looked a little more pissed off than usual at not being able to go, but he sucked it up and did as he was told.
As the day faded into afternoon Gudrik and Kahn climbed into the van and headed south toward the city. “Do you have anything even resembling a plan?” asked Kahn.
“No, I will judge this fortress when we arrive. Any idea of the numbers in garrison there?” he grumbled. Kahn ruffled his eyebrows and turned to the Warlock.
“Gudrik, you realise that our target is a place of science, right?”
“Oh.” Gudrik became flustered and fought to hide reddening cheeks. “Many of your boy’s words were unfamiliar to me. I didn’t wish to appear simple in front of everyone, gratitude.”
“Anytime Gudrik. To be honest, I am impressed with how well you handle the modern tongue. It is a far cry from the languages of our era.”
“During my captivity, I had very little choice but to listen.”
Random chit chat eased the boredom of the trip as Kahn tried filling Gudrik in on some of the landmark events he had missed during his captivity. With so much history to deal with Kahn chose only the most iconic parts and often found himself leaping backwards and forwards, jumbling Gudrik’s timeline. The Warlock listened intently to just how far the world had evolved in his absence; it seemed the snippets he had picked up from George had been only the tip of the iceberg. Kahn truly had seen the world grow and blossom before beginning to fester and rot. Gudrik could scarcely believe the things some people got away with unchecked in the modern age. Before long the sun had given way to night and the bright lights of the city shone on the horizon.
Brisbane’s streets were once again populated with traffic and party goers. Bright neon lit the buildings around them and thudding bass boomed from many. It was altogether a very different sight to when they had fled. Gudrik looked out the window at the large glowing moon hanging above. “A man has walked on that,” he breathed. “That, Kahn is far more impressive than anything I have and probably ever will do in my life.” Kahn smiled as he pulled the car over a discreet distance from an architectural marvel on the southern outskirts of the city.
The structure looked like something from a science fiction movie. Steel clad in glass with not a straight panel amongst its flowing lines. It sat sparkling decadently in a melange of moonlight from above and ambient streetlight from below.
“There it is,” said Kahn, gesturing.
“Return home, I can get back alone,” grunted Gudrik.
“You don’t want help?” replied Kahn with concern. Gudrik ignored his question and Kahn sighed, “If you plan to fly, stay low. There is technology now which tracks movements in the sky.”
“Yes I have had some experience with that,” he thought, remembering his tussle with the helicopter. “Of course,” was all that came out of his mouth. Gudrik climbed out of the car, and to Kahn’s surprise wandered into an alley across the road rather than towards the target. Despite his curiosity in the Warlock’s plan, Kahn did as he was instructed and left before the vehicle’s presence could be noticed.
The alley was much darker than the street, shadowed by the large buildings on each side. He drew Scurt’s wand and exposed a few droplets of blood. Gudrik closed his eyes and pictured himself on top of the building beside him. “Sclivitan!” he breathed. A prickly burn burst across every inch of his body. It lasted only a split second and as it subsided a stiff breeze was blowing into his face. It felt cold after the burst of heat, his skin tingled. Gudrik opened his eyes to find himself on top of the building. “Well done Dorian.”
It was one of the things Gudrik loved most about what he was. Creativity evolved the craft. He had known that spirit tongue term since he was eleven, he had even used it to move heavy building materials in the past, but never had he have considered bending it in the way Dorian did.
From his rooftop vantage point the Warlock carefully surveyed the target. Once upon a time he would have simply burst in, axe in hand and hacked his way to the information he desired. But the technology of this new age.....wel
l, let’s just say it was a variable he had not yet come to terms with.
The first thing which struck Gudrik was the obvious lack of security. The glass walls betrayed much of the internal going ons of the building. He observed the premises for over an hour from his lofty perch and other than two guards near the huge front doors, he saw no patrols. The two in view seemed to do nothing more than sit at a large desk and occasionally go for coffee. “Such incompetent warriors? There must be some form of science watching over this place.”
But standing there forever was not an option, the night was halfway through as it was. With a slash and a whisper, Gudrik appeared in a swirl of mist high atop the institute’s curved roof. Again he bled, again he whispered, “Xitzsus.”
With a shimmer and a groan, Gudrik’s very being faded to but a shade of its former vibrancy, leaving him translucent and smokey. He began to drift gracefully down, passing through the solid glass roof as though it were water.
This shade took impeccable concentration to maintain and was accompanied by a pain which few could even imagine. If he pushed it too far his separating molecules completely lost their connection with gravity and he was left in place as the earth rotated away from him at blurring pace. If he didn’t push hard enough he was unable to pass through solid objects. It was a delicate balancing act, but one which he had mastered long ago and the knack it seemed had not been lost. But the pain, it was something he would never become accustomed to.
On the inside of the building, Gudrik found himself in a laboratory. This kind of place was actually familiar to him, though it was certainly not a place he understood. He had been though rooms like this during his captivity. He drifted weightlessly through the room, passing effortlessly through any objects which found themselves in his way. Gudrik really had no idea what he was looking for and he certainly had no concept where to begin. He knew instantly that he should have taken up the offer of the Inscribed to join him. “Ormstunga! Two thousand years old and still making the mistakes of youth.”
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