The Kaiserine's Champion

by Derek Paterson

  I climbed the ramp and entered the Arena. Konrad and Sergey were in the middle of a desperate exchange. Both were wounded and bore several bloody cuts, but they were still game for a fight and giving the crowd the entertainment it sought.

  Someone in the audience saw me and stood, shouting his surprise. The shout was taken up by someone else, and the realization went around the Arena like a forest fire. Men and women came to their feet; so did Duke Wilhelm. The Kaiserine and Thenck were the only ones who remained in their seats. They might have been carved from stone.

  Konrad and Sergey stopped fighting and drew apart, not sure what was going on. But then they glanced at each other and a look of perfect understanding passed between them. Konrad wore Prussian blue and a short fur cloak over his right shoulder which identified him as an Hussar, one of the swift, elite horsemen whose curved blades had slashed bloody swathes through the Kaiserine's enemies. Sergey, by contrast, wore the light green of a Moskovian Lancer and fought with a straight sword of the type favored by heavy cavalry. As I drew near they lunged together, in perfect unison, as if they'd been rehearsing this joint attack for days. I shifted left, stabbed, leapt around the falling Konrad and slashed at Sergey before he could turn to meet my attack.

  Two brave men who'd looked for glory lay side by side on the Arena floor dead, and I, their murderer, felt absolutely nothing for them. Why should I? They'd signed up to kill or be killed, willingly gambling their lives, and they'd lost to a better man.

  The audience liked it, none more so than Duke Wilhelm who, red-faced with excitement, clapped loudly and shouted his appreciation. Count Laszlo, who'd returned to his former position atop the ramp, looked positively pale by comparison. I reached out across the width of the Arena and touched him, feeling his surface emotions, sensing his surprise and horror at seeing two expert swordsmen executed in cold blood by no more than two swift strokes.

  “I will now deal with the rest of the challenges that were laid at my feet,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Count Laszlo!” He raised his head. “Bring forth the next man, but warn him before he enters that he can expect no quarter.” I looked up at the box. “Kaiserine's rules,” I added, coining a new phrase. “To the death."

  Laszlo nodded, turned and went down the ramp. There were half a dozen warriors gathered there, held in check by soldiers and officials until their turn came. Laszlo selected a man and spoke with him briefly. The warrior pushed past the Count and ran up the ramp, ran across the Arena, ran onto my sword. He was still dying, his chances of swift glory dissipating along with his life when I signaled Laszlo to send the next man. He picked a scarlet-uniformed Franck mercenary with twin swords, who came forward cautiously and tried to trick me with a series of dazzling feints that did him no good at all; he dropped his swords and toppled like a tree when my blade found his heart.

  The next man came half-way up the ramp then stopped. He was a tall, good-looking Infantry officer who looked as though he knew his business. He glanced around the Arena, stared at the bodies, then looked at me. And then he turned and went back down the ramp again. The crowd saw his retreat and jeered, but I didn't blame him, nor would I ever call him a coward. He'd exhibited plain common sense and for that I admired him greatly. The other warriors shifted to block him but he shouldered his way through them, ignoring their taunts. It occurred to me that quite possibly he was the only sane man in the entire Arena at that moment. Wilhelm was laughing and pointing, and I thought I detected a faint trace of a smile upon the Kaiserine's ageless lips.

  The next man came up the ramp, determined to make a better showing than the one who'd refused to fight. We fought for all of ten seconds before I killed him. I stepped over his body to reach the next man, who died just as easily. As did the next, and the next. The corpses began to pile up around me and I moved back to give myself more room, my sword dripping gore.

  Laszlo's expression betrayed his disgust, and hot anger suddenly flared deep within me without warning. How dare he judge me? This was none of my doing. I glared at him, and to my surprise I felt my incisors pushing forward, threatening to appear from underneath my top lip. The vampyre was emerging! I struggled to fight it, to control the urge before it took over and changed me there and then, in front of the Empire's aristos. That would certainly give them reason to remember this contest! But the Kaiserine's Guardsmen would doubtless shoot first and ask pertinent questions later. The vampyre squeezed my will, and it took every grain of strength I possessed to resist the change and stay human. I was dimly aware of Count Laszlo gesturing for someone to enter the Arena and fight me, aware also that only a handful of warriors now remained at the bottom of the ramp. The others were either already dead, were wounded or had wisely withdrawn from the contest, preferring to bear the brunt of their sponsors’ wrath than perish upon my bloody sword.

  Reaction leapt ahead of conscious thought and took me out of harm's way as the warrior attacked. I caught a flash of a dark orange shirt and remembered Cortez, the Espanyan who'd returned my grin after he'd won his first fight. What was it Laszlo had said to him? Well done, lad. The Kaiserine liked that trick of yours. Very nasty. I fended off his thrusts and backed around the Arena, avoiding the littered corpses by instinct while I concentrated on pushing the emerging vampyre back into its box and closing the lid.

  Something gleamed below waist level and then came up fast, aimed at my belly. I twisted away, avoiding the dagger blade that had sprung from Cortez's boot toe. The blade would have disemboweled me had I been a fraction of a second slower. Very nasty, indeed. Cortez was no slouch with the sword, either; I had the edge in speed and strength, but he'd been trained by professional blademasters and knew clever combinations that would have won him the fight, if not for the vampyre's gift.

  It was time to end it. I purposely over-extended my left leg as I retreated and he took the bait, kicking savagely, slashing open my thigh with his boot-dagger. Rather my thigh than my stomach. I brought my hand down quickly, trapping his boot, and spun him around. His eyes widened in fear as he foundered, hopelessly off-balance. My sword found his throat and Cortez joined his ancestors, those courageous Espanyan explorers of legend.

  My inner struggle was also over. I'd managed to cage the vampyre, at least for the moment, but that didn't stop me from concentrating on my injured thigh, forcing my flesh to close and blood to congeal around the wound. What had Thenck called it? Rapid regeneration. I used it to the full, healing myself even as I limped forward to face whoever came up the ramp next.

  Laszlo turned his head and called down the ramp, “Helmut! Your turn."

  A warrior wearing a pink and green harlequin check jerkin stepped forward and climbed the ramp. His unblinking gaze fixed on me and my breath caught in my throat. I'd noticed him earlier, when Gunter and I had entered the Arena. Something about him had caught my eye then—and now I knew what it was. He smiled at me, totally sure of his abilities, certain beyond doubt that his vampyre strength, speed and cunning would overpower me.

  The Arena shifted around me and the sounds of the excited crowd receded until there was only silence. Time slowed for us, then stopped completely. It was his doing. He had exerted his inhuman will upon the universe and it had obeyed him. Noone breathed or spoke in the Arena except us. The Kaiserine's words came back to me unbidden: That means he's very old, very experienced and the most dangerous adversary you're likely to meet in the Arena. Old, indeed. Such was this vampyre's power than even sunlight posed no threat to him. The two vampyres who'd been slain had served as decoys. This one was the Kaiserine's nemesis, her sworn enemy.

  “I don't know what you're doing here,” he said. “Explanations can wait until later. What matters is that I require your assistance, which I invoke by the authority of the High Coven. After three or four exchanges that will bring the cattle to their feet, I'll wound you. You'll pretend to die, leaving me to continue fighting until I am the sole victor. Any questions?"

  “No,” I said. That wasn't quite true; I h
ad a few hundred questions to which I needed answers, but I doubted the vampyre would entertain me.

  “Good. Then let's get on with it."

  The Arena grew bright around me and sound returned as he released his hold upon time. He smiled again, as if to confirm our little secret, and adopted en garde. I did the same. Our swords touched and he leapt forward, launching an attack bewildering in its complexity and ferocity, an attack that spoke of centuries of training and accumulated expertise. He sent me stumbling backward and I tripped over the lifeless bodies of Konrad and Sergey, who reached out from beyond the grave to exact vengeance for their deaths. But I hit the floor, rolled, raised my sword to deflect a stroke aimed at my face then kicked with both feet, taking Helmut's legs out from under him. He landed on all fours like a cat and flipped away before I slashed my sword through the space where his head had been.

  He attacked again and I could make no better defense than before—he drove me around the Arena as if I were some bumbling incompetent amateur who'd never held a sword in his life. The point of his blade found my jacket's top button and cut it free, flipping it into the air. I tried to deflect his next thrust but he ignored me and took the second button away. The Kaiserine had been correct when she'd suggested vampyres liked to prove their superiority. This one was certainly putting on a show for the audience—the cattle, as he'd called them—and enjoying himself at my expense. His damned insolence made me angry, so much so that when he lunged to take the third button I smashed his sword aside and drove my fist into his unprotected jaw, sending him sprawling. He was up and had his sword ready in an instant, rubbing his jaw.

  “I'm terribly sorry,” I said, “but I simply had to wipe that smug smile off your face.” My fangs pressed against the inside of my top lip again, but this time I was ready and kept the vampyre within under tight control, using its strength but not allowing it to take over.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed, his voice low so that only I could hear him.

  “Bringing the cattle to their feet,” I told him, springing forward to slash his harlequin jerkin open from shoulder to shoulder, scoring a red line across his chest in the process. His flesh sizzled as the silver inlaid within my blade made contact. What was it the old vampyre legend said? Wood kills, but silver destroys.

  He snarled and counterattacked with all the speed and skill I'd expected, but I was ready for him now and played him like a fish, pulling him forward until we fought directly beneath the Kaiserine's box. For a good reason. He was here for the explicit purpose of killing the Kaiserine and therefore could only be distracted by her close proximity. As I expected he glanced toward her box, judging the distance to the rail above. All he needed was a split-second to make his leap, but I didn't give him the opportunity. Instead I held off his murderous attacks and kept him there, refusing to give ground. He cut me time and time again, but I cut him too, and he didn't like it, not one little bit, because my silver-inlaid blade was hurting him more than his plain steel hurt me. His rage grew and his will beat down upon me like a physical thing, demanding I retreat, that I permit him to wound me so he'd gain the distraction he needed. While all eyes were on me, he'd leap for the Kaiserine and murder her before her Guardsmen could stop him—

  “I have the authority of the High Coven!” he said, grunting the words as we fought our private battle, which had indeed brought the cattle to their feet, and almost had Duke Wilhelm choking with excitement.

  “Look again,” I said, scoring a deep cut down his arm and then slashing his cheek, causing him to wince in pain. “I'm not one of you."

  His eyes widened as the truth dawned on him. His plans had suddenly turned to mud. He gathered his strength, preparing to jump, and I slid past his sword and took him through the heart.

  I expected him to die instantly, to crumble to dust like vampyres were supposed to, but he had other ideas. He dropped his sword and his hands closed about my neck, gripping me with superhuman strength. He forced me down onto my knees, choking me, ignoring my futile attempts to break free. I looked up at him and would have gasped in surprise had I been able to breath, because flames were consuming his body, destroying him. He screamed and crimson fire burst from his mouth to wash over me. The raw energy of his death cast me into the air and sent me tumbling helplessly across the Arena. The far wall swelled to greet me and I hit it with sufficient force to scatter my senses to the four winds. Again.

  I thought about Ludwig the dwarf, the one-handed girl in Thenck's headquarters, the guards with reconstructed faces and the red line across the Kaiserine's wrist—and then, thank Gott, I lost consciousness because it hurt too much.

  * * * *

  Waking up in strange locations was becoming rather tedious. I didn't recognize the wood-paneled room, nor the pretty maidservant who placed the bottle of water upon the table beside my bed. She glanced down at me and smiled upon discovering I was awake.

  “I hope I didn't disturb you?” she said.

  “Not at all. May I ask your name?"

  “Patrizia.” Her dark green dress set off her blue eyes and curly red hair.

  “Where am I, Patrizia?"

  “Why, you are in the guest quarters of the Duke Wilhelm's house."

  “How long have I been here?” I asked. Daylight streamed in through a narrow gap in the curtains and cast a strip of gold up the back of her dark green dress.

  “Since yesterday. Would you like a drink of water?"

  “Yes, please.” There was a strange and unpleasant taste in my mouth which I wanted rid of.

  The Arena contest was a one-day affair. The contest must therefore be over. I'd probably been disqualified because I was unfit and unable to continue fighting. I told myself I hadn't particularly wanted to be the Kaiserine's Champion anyway. What I had wanted was to be human again. I examined Patrizia as she unstopped the bottle and poured water into a cup, and was pleased to note that I felt no urge to sink my teeth into her neck and partake of her warm blood. In fact, the very thought revolted me, which I took to be a good sign.

  She offered me the cup and I propped myself up on one elbow, took it and drank thirstily. When I'd finished, she refilled the cup. I nodded my thanks.

  “I'm to let Duke Wilhelm know when you're awake,” she said.

  “Very well."

  She went to the door, smiled and went out. I drained the cup, put it back on the table and sat up, flexing my muscles, wanting to find out how badly injured I was. There were minor aches and pains, but nothing too serious. I judged myself fit to stand and walk, very possibly to fight if circumstances required that I must. The fact was, I didn't know how much the Duke knew. Had Thenck or the Kaiserine told him who I really was? Just because I was lying in a warm, comfortable bed didn't mean Wilhelm had forgiven me for killing and wounding his Wardens. For all I knew, another dozen soldiers might be waiting outside, ready to stick me with their swords.

  My clothes lay on a chair in the corner. I rose from the bed and padded silently across the room, keeping one eye on the door. The slashed Corsican mercenary's uniform had been expertly repaired, and someone had also gone to the trouble of polishing my boots, which were underneath the chair. This suggested the Duke didn't intend to hang me for my past crimes, but one can never be certain of the aristocracy—anything so inbred has to be regarded as unpredictably dangerous. The only sensible course of action was for me to leave the Duke's house as quickly as possible and pass out of the city before Thenck came looking for me. I didn't know where I'd go, but I'd pick up a blade somewhere along the way and start looking for employment as a bodyguard or hiresword. Soldiering was the only trade I knew.

  I pulled on the uniform trousers and boots. The door opened just as I was fastening my jacket—which had been given shiny new silver buttons, I noted. The Duke Wilhelm stood there, looking at me curiously.

  “I am astounded to see you fit and well,” he said. “After what happened—well, none of us expected you to live, let alone make a full recovery."

  “I
'm a little surprised myself,” I said, remembering how my vampyre adversary had burned. I'd learned three things about vampyres: they hated sunlight, feared silver and were liable to take their enemies with them when they died.

  “How is the Kaiserine?” I asked.

  “Alive, thanks to you, and I suppose, in a lesser degree, to Otto Thenck."

  Evidently the Kaiserine had told the Duke something of my role in the scheme she and Thenck had devised to flush the vampyre out, but that still didn't mean my past sins were absolved.

  “Her Majesty wanted you taken to the Imperial Palace,” he said, “but she agreed to my suggestion you be brought here instead, my house being closer to the Arena. My personal physician attended you while you slept. The fellow has somewhat strange ideas. He refuses to bleed his patients, which is something I've always insisted upon myself, but I have faith in him, even if he does waste time washing his hands and boiling his surgical knives.” The Duke chuckled, then clapped me upon the shoulder. “You look as good as new, lad. If you're feeling up to it, we'll go and see Her Majesty now."

  I cleared my throat. “May I ask why, m'lord?"

  “Because she ordered it, of course. Are you well enough to travel to the Palace?"

  “I believe so,” I said, knowing I had little choice in the matter.

  He led me downstairs, into a front hall where guards stood at attention and servants scurried to fetch cloaks. The Duke ordered his coach brought around to the front of the house. To my surprise, one of the servants brought me my silver-inlaid sword in an engraved leather scabbard and matching belt. The Duke Wilhelm smiled. “The scabbard is a small gift from me, which I hope you'll accept?"