The Stone Warriors: Nicodemus

by D. B. Reynolds

  Nico regarded the sorcerer for a moment, deciding what to tell him. He hadn’t been bragging when he’d said Charron would never know if he lied. But neither was he about to bare his soul to a man who would as soon see him dead in the street as a member of his precious group.

  “What I want,” Nico said slowly, “is none of your affair. What I have already told you and the others is the truth. I am in this city seeking a member of my family, a cousin, who left on a great journey and never returned. Or at least, he had not returned as of my own departure. I know from the last letter we received that he arrived in Paris safely, but there has been nothing since.”

  Charron paused while the waiter delivered their main course, and cut into the meat and chewed before continuing. “I’m better-connected in magical circles than Vital or the others, especially outside the city, since my home lies there. I’ve sent inquiries. But tell me, if you learn that your cousin has left the city, will you follow him?”

  Nico watched the other man in private amusement. It was obvious that Charron wanted him gone, and was willing to help as long as it would mean Nico’s departure from the city.

  “I will. Though if anyone were to give false report of his departure, they would regret it before they died.”

  Charron snorted. “I’m not deceived by the false image you show to the others as to the strength of your magic. Only a fool would cross you, and regardless of what you may think of me, I am not a fool. I suspect, as I think you do, that your cousin is no longer in this city. You’ve said that he’s nearly as powerful as you. But not even you, Nicholas, could conceal that much magic forever. If this Sotiris were still in the city, he would have given himself away by now. There are those in Paris who might have detected a great use of sorcerous power, but kept quiet about it, for reasons of their own. I will inquire of them, and share my findings, as well as any reports I receive from the countryside.”

  “Merci,” Nico said, miming a toast with his wine glass. “But tell me, Charron, why would you extend me this courtesy?”

  The sorcerer pulled hard on his cigar and exhaled it deliberately across the table and into Nico’s face.

  Having anticipated the action, and surprised only that it had taken so long, Nico puffed a soft breath that, with magical help, sent the smoke on a sharp turn away from his face. He regarded Charron with a too-pleased expression, which had the man’s jaw muscles flexing with irritation.

  “I want you gone,” the sorcerer said bluntly. “Violette is mine. She was promised to me the day she was born. Our child will unite our family estates into one large enough to control prices.”

  “Prices of what? What do your lands produce?”

  “Grapes, of course. We are vintners, and the wines of both our houses are well sought after.”

  “Vital has contributed truly excellent wines to our shared dinners. Perhaps I’ve tasted one of yours.” He sipped the delicious cognac the waiter had just placed in front of him, then said, “I’ve no interest in Violette, if that’s your concern.”

  “I doubt she would intrigue you in any event. Her skill with magic is considerable, and her mind is excellent. But her behavior . . .” He shook his head, tsking in disapproval. “No young woman of my house would be permitted such obstinance, much less such freedom.”

  “And yet you will marry her in the holy church?”

  “Of course. The alliance was signed two decades ago.”

  “I see.”

  “Such agreements are not common in your home country?”

  “Very common. I myself am the second son of a powerful house.”

  “The second son. Now I understand your lack of urgency in returning home.”

  The man understood nothing, but Nico said simply, “Just so.”

  “Let us toast then, Nicholas.” He raised his glass. “To a vampire- free Paris.”

  Nico tipped his glass, but didn’t join in the sentiment. He doubted Paris or any other city would ever be free of vampires. They reproduced too easily. But the truth was that what he wanted wasn’t in Paris. And the only outcome he would be toasting to was the return of his warriors, and Antonia. Which he pledged again would happen, no matter how long it took.

  Chapter Nine

  NICO TOOK A NAP when he returned home after lunch. Sleeping in the afternoon wasn’t his usual routine, but the combination of a night spent hunting vampires, a midday meal with wine flowing freely, and a coming night that included questioning a captive vampire, convinced him to take to his bed. If any further rationalization was necessary, he told himself he could come up with a strategy for the night’s interrogation while he lay resting. The plan worked somewhat, in that he did a considerable amount of thinking about how to proceed. The subject eventually taxed his thoughts sufficiently that he slept deeply and woke not only refreshed, but looking forward to both questioning his prisoner and observing the manacles’ performance on a vampire.

  David was waiting when he came downstairs, a look of concern on his face. “Are you unwell, Nicholas?”

  “Not at all. Why do you ask?”

  “You . . . rested this afternoon. It’s not your habit.”

  “Ah. I had lunch with Monsieur Charron, which required a great deal of wine to survive.”

  His butler chuckled. “I understand. Dinner will be ready in one hour. Will you want an aperitif in the sitting room?”

  “An aperitif, yes. But in my office. I’ve neglected my research.”

  HE WORKED IN his office until dinner, returned there afterward, and remained until David was long asleep, and the house was quiet. Then, placing the notes he’d written about the manacles in a satchel, including what he could remember of his original research, he took off for his clandestine work.

  Once inside the basement of the rented building, he locked and warded the heavy door, crossed to the simple wooden table he’d found upstairs, put his satchel down, and removed his coat, then stood perfectly still and listened with every sense he possessed, both magical and not. Satisfied he was truly alone with his captive, he opened the cabinet to find the vampire was already awake. His gaze was fierce when a growl rumbled from his chest at the sight of Nico. But despite the rage in his eyes, the manacles had reduced his strength so much that the growl sounded more like the purr of a lazy cat, and not at all like the arrogant vampire he’d first captured.

  Curious, Nico nonetheless ignored the creature while he set out his journal and writing tools, then finally sat at the table and studied his captive. He wished for a moment that he was a skilled artist, because the change in the vampire’s appearance after a single night in the amber manacles was so obvious that he doubted any words he might write in his journal could capture it. He was . . . diminished. His skin was dry and stretched, as if it would tear if touched. His lips and gums were pale when he tried to snarl, and the fangs he’d displayed so prominently the night before were either shorter, or he was unable to display them completely.

  The vampire raised his head slowly, struggling to hold it up. “What have you done to me, human?” he rasped.

  Nico felt almost sorry for the creature, which was just wrong. This vampire would have drained him dry, given the chance. Still, he wanted answers and wouldn’t get them from a dead vampire. “If you continue to struggle,” he warned, “you will only weaken yourself more. I’m a sorcerer, and the bindings are of my own making. You cannot free yourself.”

  The vampire let his head fall forward, though whether in defeat or to conserve his strength, Nico didn’t know. He wasn’t willing to assume the vampire was neutralized, but he was confident that the creature couldn’t break the manacles. Even without the restraints, Nico’s power alone was great enough to contain one vampire. But he preferred it not come to that, since any use of his power to that extent might warn those listeners in Paris that Charron had spoken of. Nico needed this vampire
alive, however, if the vamp was going to help Nico capture the master. And he needed to do that—to prove himself to the group, and obtain whatever they might learn about Sotiris in return.

  Hating the necessity, but admitting that it was necessary, he manifested a tiny blade of magical energy, made it real, and pricked his finger, hoping it would bleed enough to restore the vampire to where he could answer questions. He walked around the table to stand in front of his captive.

  “Open your mouth,” he commanded.

  The vampire obeyed the authority in the command, tilting his head back and opening his pale lips. When the first drop of blood hit his tongue, his eyes shot open to stare at Nico.

  “Ah yes, this blood is richer than any you’ve ever tasted,” Nico thought.

  With the second and third drops, the vampire’s face flushed pink and his fangs dropped completely into view. Deciding that was enough, and tired of squeezing his finger, Nico pulled it back and sealed the pinprick of a wound, then went back to sit down.

  The vampire was watching him carefully, fear and hunger waging a war in his gaze.

  “You should know that I have no compassion for your kind,” Nico said. “One of you tried to destroy the life of someone I love. He was the champion of his people, an honorable man who fought to defend them against an unprovoked invasion by those who would have wiped them from the earth and built a new empire on their bones. When your people took him, they perverted everything he believed in, everything he lived for, and forced him to prey on the same people he’d defended so courageously. When he finally came to me, he hoped only for his own death. Not a cure, not salvation, but death, so that he could stop existing as the monster they’d made of him.

  “Even so, I didn’t come to this city to kill vampires. I came here chasing a man whose evil is far greater than anything even your master’s master could possibly hope to achieve. But when I arrived, I found that the man I sought was gone. However . . .”

  He gave the vampire an assessing look, making sure he was paying attention, then continued. “There are others in this city who do want to kill vampires. People who, in fact, want to cleanse Paris of every last one of you. And they have information that could lead me to the man I seek. Do you understand so far?”

  The vampire glared silently for a moment, and then—possibly because he realized that Nico could and would kill him if he didn’t cooperate— nodded.

  “Good,” Nico said. “In order to gain the cooperation of these people, and thus learn the information they possess, I had to convince them that I shared their hatred of vampires. Which I do. But since I’ve no desire to run around killing one vampire after another, I’ve built a weapon which will be very useful in their pursuit of your kind. A weapon that I now need to test.”

  The vampire stared, his expression definitely more fearful than angry.

  “Not on you,” he dismissed immediately. “On a master. And yours would do nicely, if you’d just tell me where to find him.”

  The vampire tried to conceal his reaction, but Nico was watching for it. When he’d said he wanted to know the master’s location, the vampire’s pupils had flared in alarm for a bare instant.

  Nico sighed. “I’ve heard that vampires are incapable of betraying their master. That they’d rather die than do so. Unfortunately, you and I are about to discover if that’s true.”

  Nico stood, and once again walked around the table to stand in front of his captive. It wasn’t necessary, but physical proximity heightened a prisoner’s stress. He’d always begun his interrogations this way in his own world, though he couldn’t say he’d participated in a great number of them. And he’d never before questioned a vampire prisoner, which made tonight different from any other, and rather morbidly excited Nico with the prospect of a new experience.

  “How do the manacles feel against your skin?” he asked curiously.

  The vampire stared stubbornly, before apparently deciding that he could answer the question without betraying anyone. “Cold.”

  “Really? How cold? Like the brush of snow on your fingers, or more like a freezing wind on bare skin?”

  “Neither of those. It’s as if these things—” He lifted his hands and shook them, making the manacles rattle. “—are trying to steal my soul.”

  “Do you have a soul?”

  “Yes,” the vampire hissed angrily.

  “So you believe, anyway.”

  “It’s all belief, isn’t it, sorcerer? Even you cannot prove the existence of a soul, or the lack thereof. Even in a vampire.”

  Nico grinned, inordinately pleased to discover his prisoner knew how to use his brain, and might have been an educated man in his previous life. “Very good, vampire. How old are you?”

  “I was born to my human mother fifty-seven years ago. But my master gave me the gift of eternal life when I was but nineteen.”

  “So young, and now so old,” Nico whispered, sorry for the young man on the cusp of adulthood who’d had his life torn away. And yet, he was also pleased that this vampire was old enough to have come to terms with his new life and remain sane, so that he’d survived thirty-eight years as a creature of nightmare. He was intrigued, too, to learn that a vampire this old remained loyal to his master, and continued to live with him, when most humans would have long since moved on to a family and home of their own.

  Nodding thoughtfully, Nico bent to the table and scribbled a few notes, before looking up. “Try to break free of the manacles, by whatever means you choose.”

  The vampire met and held his gaze, while his shoulders and arms bunched and flexed. He gave a single grunt, then lifted his hands halfway to his chest, while his shoulders strained and he fought to break free.

  Nico watched intently, tension rising when the vampire’s struggles increased until his face darkened, and a vein in his forehead swelled as if it would burst. Finally, he let out a deep groan and let his manacled hands drop to rest limply on his thighs. His head was lowered, his chest heaving as he worked to pull in air.

  “What are they?” the vampire finally ground out.

  “They are the amber manacles.”

  “What the fuck are they?” he repeated. “Not the fancy name you and your high and mighty sorcerer friends gave them, but what they are.”

  Nico finished what he was writing before he looked up. “I told you, they’re magic and unbreakable by humans, most sorcerers, and by vampires, as well, it seems. Don’t worry, this next bit will be easier.” He paused until he had the vampire’s full attention. “Who is your master?”

  “My master is my master. What is the question?”

  “You’re not stupid. Don’t pretend you are. What is your master’s name, and where is he from?”

  The vampire didn’t want to answer that one. He stared stonily straight ahead while Nico applied pain, using his magic, rather than any physical implement. He’d already decided that this vampire, who’d once been a man like any other, wouldn’t surrender to ordinary pain. It would take something extraordinary to make him forswear his oath and loyalty to his master. Unfortunately for him, Nico was capable of extraordinary cruelty to get what he wanted from a murderer of innocents.

  He began with the thinnest thread of magic, sliding it into the vampire’s lungs on an indrawn breath, weaving it around and through every organ in his body, until he was utterly at Nico’s mercy. The vampire hadn’t felt the magical intrusion, however, and didn’t yet realize his vulnerability, until Nico withheld air from his lungs.

  The vampire gasped, eyes wide and staring around the room, as if searching for whatever had caused this sudden loss of breath. His mouth hung open like a hooked fish, blood and drool dripping from his lips, while his pale face flushed red, then purple . . .

  And Nico released his hold.

  The prisoner slumped for a moment as if he’d fainted, but t
hen he snapped upright, sucking air when his lungs began to work again. He coughed hard enough that Nico worried he’d do damage, but finally the coughing ceased, and he breathed with deep, harsh rasps, until he sat up and stared at Nico. “What are you?”

  “I told you. I’m a sorcerer. I can steal the breath from your lungs, or stop your heart from beating with a thought. I can make you take this knife—” He took the knife he’d used to prick his finger and lifted it to the candle flame, so that the honed edge gleamed. “—and slice your own throat, then watch your life’s blood pour out, helpless to save yourself. There is nothing I cannot compel you to do, and nothing I won’t do to get what I want.”

  “Why?” the vampire asked, almost pleading.

  “Because I need what you know, and your kind are merciless killers. Can you say honestly that you have never killed?”

  He stared at Nico hopelessly. “No. Can you? Every animal kills to survive, even you, sorcerer.”

  “But you need only the blood of your prey. Is it necessary for you to kill and mutilate in order to feed? Are the stories of a vampire’s ability to mesmerize not true?”

  The vampire started to speak, then seemed to think better of it.

  “Ah, that is something your master would not want you to tell me. Which means it’s something I want to know. Which was it? The question of killing to feed? Or the ability to mesmerize?”

  His lips firmed into a tight line of resistance.

  “As you wish.”

  The vampire drew a deep breath, filling his chest with air, anticipating a repeat of the earlier punishment. It might have worked if Nico had planned to freeze his lungs again, but he didn’t. Torture worked best if the prisoner never knew what was coming, and with Nico’s magic already resident in the vampire’s body, he could act on any part of it.