But then everything had spiraled out of control.
Aldamar had flown into a fit of rage, striking down Movan like a farmer reaping wheat. He could not believe the strength, speed, and grace in which the Count had moved. Movan stood no chance, falling before he could pose any real threat to Count Aldamar. Amantius was a little ashamed that he had felt a small degree of relief and elation watching Movan die, but those feelings had been quickly subdued when his eyes had turned to the duel between Jaga and Ulam.
Amantius had tried to run to them both, to try to separate them, but he had been held in place by Morganna. Her strength had surprised him, because he could not imagine her lithe frame concealing such power. He attributed her sudden brawn to fear since Count Aldamar lingered nearby with blood-stained weapons, knowing firsthand the kind of superhuman power that fortifies the muscles when someone is in danger. A loud crunch had stolen Amantius’ focus from the Count, followed by a cold dread that had instantly filled his heart. Ulam was on the ground, motionless.
“No! Stop!” Amantius had yelled until his voice became hoarse. “Don’t hurt him! He’s my brother! Jaga, please!”
He had watched the old warchief go from a hand’s width of executing Ulam, to standing idle. Amantius had then let out a breath he did not know he had been holding, and felt relief wash over him like rain. His thoughts had then turned to Morganna, who was still standing beside him, her dark eyes frantically searching the room.
“Where did he go?” She had said, a touch of panic in her words. “Where is Aldamar?”
And then there had been a cry of pain, and Jaga had crashed to the floor beside Ulam. Count Aldamar then emerged from the darkness, a dagger dripping in blood.
How has this happened?
“Traitor,” Aldamar muttered as he wiped the blade on a fallen man’s cloak.
A sudden burst of rage filled Amantius. He wanted to rush forward, grab a sword, and place the blade deep into Count Aldamar’s heart. He struggled for his freedom though, Morganna’s grip seemingly made of the strongest iron. No matter how hard he tried, he could not escape.
“Let go of me!” Amantius demanded as he squirmed. “How are you this strong!?”
“Yes, Sister,” Count Aldamar said, a smirk on his face, “Please enlighten us. Amantius may not be the strongest man in the world, but surely he should be able to break free from your grasp.”
Aldamar’s expression, and Morganna’s hesitation, alarmed Amantius. He struggled a little more, not putting any real effort into escaping while alternating his eyes from brother to sister. Wait. Something is not right. Does Aldamar know something I don’t?
“For all the reasons you are, Brother,” Morganna replied. “I have the same gift you have, but you know this already. You knew this the second I appeared, did you not?”
Same gift? What the hell are they talking about? What kind of gift makes you a thousand times stronger, especially when you are as old as Aldamar or as small as Morganna?
“Gift.” Aldamar spat the word. His face twisted; he was utterly repulsed by the notion. “It is not a gift. It is a curse, a prison sentence. Tell me what is so romantic about being confined to the shadows of a musty, old castle? To forever live in fear of being discovered by the common folk and hunted like a monster? What is so wonderful about forever battling these cravings, these wretched desires to feast on blood? Tell me, Sister, how is being a vampire a gift?”
“A vampire!” Amantius watched as Count Aldamar’s eyes turned from their usual deep black to bright yellow. Two fangs protruded from his upper gums, saliva dripping from them. Amantius saw the muscles in Aldamar’s forearm swell, slowly expanding until he could see the veins bulging under the skin. It was a terrifying sight, to watch someone who looked so frail transform into a bloodthirsty monster before his eyes. Amantius stood perfectly still, mouth wide open, in absolute terror.
“Yes, a vampire.” Count Aldamar said, his voice as calm and collected as always. “I must say I am impressed; when we first met you suspected I carried some dark secret. As a sort of entertainment, I watched you search for clues around the castle, as well as eavesdropped on some of your conversations with your fellow Guards. Of course, I would never be so sloppy to be discovered by such an amateur sleuth, but I do applaud your tenacity. I have met thousands of people who had no idea, who so easily believed my ruse as an eccentric old man. I must ask though, how did you not realize she was a vampire as well?”
Somehow Amantius finally broke away from Morganna’s grasp, either because she had loosened her grip or he finally found the strength to break free. He stood in between them, his eyes fixed on Morganna, hoping she would refute Aldamar’s accusation. As he waited he felt a sickness growing inside, a rotten air taking hold of his lungs. Please say you’re not a vampire, too! Please don’t let it be so!
“I suppose I owe you an apology, Amantius,” Morganna said as her eyes changed from pitch black to a shining yellow, while fangs slowly dropped from her gums. “I should have told you sooner. Alas, I was caught up in the throes of passion and could never find the right time. You must believe me, I never wanted to lie to you, to hide such a huge part of who I am from you.”
Amantius nearly fell over backward, his legs turned to mush. His eyes flickered between brother and sister, both equally terrifying in their own right. Where Aldamar inspired fear through size and strength Morganna took on a more sinister look, her raven black hair highlighting the unnatural tint of her eyes. He looked across the floor at Ulam, his foster-brother still motionless on his back, and felt a wave of regret wash over him. How did we get involved in this, Brother? How?
“Darling,” Morganna said, her tone as soft as velvet, though her appearance was ghastly, “I hope this does not divide us. I want you to be with me after this is all over, to help rule over this city and beyond.”
He refused to look at her, focusing on her honeyed words, pretending she was still the beautiful woman he had known and not the nefarious creature before him. He thought about what she had said about the future, living a life with her in Silverwater. It sounded insane at first, but the longer he mulled over her proposition the more likely he would accept it. After all, he would be close to Accaria and could sail across the sea when the turmoil had ended. He would be with a beautiful woman and have strong children with her, assuming she was able to reproduce. Although he was not sure if a vampire could conceive, especially with a non-vampire, his lack of knowledge would not prevent him from trying. As her husband, he would have both wealth and power, two things most men desired above all else. Overall the idea had its merits, but there was still one unresolved issue that impeded his final decision. Ulam.
“What about my brother?” Amantius said, pointing to the Orc. “He just defended the Count and raised his axe against you. Will you forgive him?”
Morganna’s face softened, though her fangs were still terrifying. “I forgave you, did I not?”
A sudden optimism shot into his heart. That’s right. I had fought against her, and now I am fighting for her. Very well. If Ulam is forgiven and allowed to live here, assuming he wants to, then I will be the next Count of Silverwater.
“She is manipulating you, you fool,” Aldamar said with a bitter sigh, like a disappointed mentor watching their pupil fail. “How can you be so blind? She is just using you to get what she wants, and then when my head is on a pike she will do the same to you. Although, she might feast on your blood first.”
“Stop lying,” Amantius replied, finding the courage to stand up to Aldamar, “You turned into a vampire first and then killed everyone, you even tried killing her!”
“And I did not succeed because she was a vampire before me,” Aldamar replied. “This is pointless; you have already decided who to believe in this matter. It is a shame you have chosen her, Amantius Jeranus, your brother always spoke highly of you.” He raised his weapon into a striking position. “Well, Sister, it looks like we must settle this once and for all.”
Aldamar j
umped across the room, his dagger flying at Morganna’s throat. She sidestepped with grace, the thrust harmlessly slicing the air. She then grappled with Aldamar, the two of them rolling on the ground throwing punches and kicks. While on her back Morganna kicked up with her legs, sending Aldamar straight to the ceiling, crashing with enough impact to create a fissure. Somehow on his descent, he landed on his feet, looking completely unaffected by the blow. Calmly he wiped dirt from his arms and straightened his clothes, and then lunged at Morganna’s throat once again.
As the two became locked in combat Amantius crawled across the floor to Ulam, cradling the Orc’s head in his lap. Upon first glance he feared his foster-brother was dead, afraid Jaga had crushed his skull with the blow to his head. Amantius tried to place a hand inside Ulam’s chainmail shirt to find his heartbeat, but the armor was too heavy for him to wiggle his hand under. Instead, he held his hand underneath Ulam’s nostrils, releasing a sigh of relief when he felt long breaths grazing his knuckles.
“Thank the Gods,” Amantius said as he gently stroked Ulam’s hair. Warm tears slid down his face and onto Ulam’s forehead; he had never been so worried about anything else before. Being so distracted with an unresponsive Ulam, the familial duel happening behind him did not even register in Amantius’ mind. At that moment he only cared about Ulam, and how he was going to save them both.
Amantius heard a crashing of stone, followed by a cry, and turned to see Morganna had all but defeated Aldamar. Sections of the ceiling directly above them had broken apart, with two giant stone slabs having fallen on Aldamar’s legs. It was a testament of the force both siblings possessed, the true ferocity with which they fought. Morganna was on top of Aldamar, a blade hovering inches above his throat, as he desperately tried to keep the iron from biting his flesh. Amantius noticed they both had a dozen cuts on their bodies, none of which bled, just silver scars adorning their pale complexions.
“I have waited so long for this moment,” Morganna said through gritted teeth, trying to summon the strength to finish him off. “So many years of waiting, planning. I dreamed of this moment so many times, at least when I still could dream.”
Aldamar’s face turned purple as he struggled to keep his head attached to his shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak from time to time, but the words only came out as a vicious screeching. He was able to free a hand, punching wildly at Morganna, missing with almost every strike. As her sword slowly descended towards his throat, Aldamar began to squirm in hopes of avoiding the inevitable. As he did so his cloak unfastened, exposing even more of his pale flesh. Amantius knew it was only a matter of time until Aldamar met his demise.
Morganna shifted her weight, giving Amantius a better view of the impending deathblow. From his new vantage point, he was able to see exactly where the iron blade would cut through Aldamar’s neck, a spot where the Count had two bright red dots. It was an unusual blemish on the Count’s skin, their appearance further highlighted by his ghostly complexion. Amantius assumed they were bite marks, given to him by the vampire that had passed the gift onto him. His mind then turned to Morganna’s body, finding it odd that she did not have the same markings on her neck. And he would know if she did, too, because he had seen her unclothed many times before.
Perhaps those aren’t bite marks on Aldamar’s neck. After all, I am far from an expert on vampires, Amantius thought as he saw the blade make contact with Aldamar’s skin, but not deep enough to truly wound him. Ulam would know why, probably. He has read so many books about vampires that he would know the truth.
Amantius’ thoughts drifted to Accaria, specifically to the last time Ulam had mentioned anything about vampires. They had been sitting in their secret spot on the side of Mount Meganthus on a lazy summer day. Although over a year had passed since that moment, his mind was able to piece together the memory.
What was it he said to me? Something about the red marks. Was it that they were passed on from vampire to vampire, like some families have round noses? Is it the mark of a new vampire? Or do the red marks stay on a vampire until…no…
Until a vampire turns someone else.
He had stumbled upon the words, not knowing how to react. He tried to deny it at first, tried to blame a faulty memory for the realization. But no matter how hard he tried, he knew that was what Ulam had told him. He could even hear the phrase coming from Ulam’s deep, grumbling voice. There was no doubt in his mind.
Amantius removed the cloak from his back and folded it, creating a makeshift pillow. He kissed Ulam’s forehead and then gently placed it on the cloak, the Orc’s eyes still shut tight. He then crossed the grand hall, navigating the chaos of broken pillars and destroyed furniture, until he reached where Aldamar and Morganna were. Without thinking he approached Morganna from behind and pulled on the collar of her shirt, invoking her wrath as he did so. She snarled at him while displaying her fangs, a truly terrifying sight to behold. He felt his courage wane as he stared into her yellow eyes; a part of him fully expecting her to toss him aside as easily as she had Aldamar.
“What are you doing?” She snapped. “I have almost killed him!”
Amantius took a deep breath in hopes of fortifying his resolve. “Where are your red marks?”
“My what?”
“Your bite marks, from when you were turned.” Amantius insisted. He knew he was walking a very dangerous line. To an extent, the questioning even seemed a little absurd to him, especially at that particular moment. “You have them, right?”
“They disappear with time,” Morganna replied curtly. Her fangs retracted, her eyes returned to their usual color, and the rage that she had shown at first was all but gone. She was still irritated, though, with Amantius’ questions being the culprit. “Sometimes, darling, you ask too many questions. Help me end this and we will talk about it. I promise.”
Amantius nodded and grabbed a nearby sword, keeping his eyes on the Count. The man made little effort against Morganna now, his strength having been almost completely sapped from the slab of stone crushing his legs. There was still a defiance in the Count’s eyes, the last bastion of emotion fueling his will to live. As Amantius approached he noticed something else, though, a more powerful emotion lurking in the depths. It was one Amantius had not expected, one that had caught him completely off-guard. It was the look of soul-crushing sadness, a look the Count reserved for Morganna. There was something in his eyes which struck a chord with Amantius, a recognition of unconditional love, in this case, for a sibling. Amantius knew the emotion well and realized if he were in Aldamar’s position with Ulam on top of him, he would have been overwhelmed with sadness as well.
“That works,” Morganna said while her fangs descended from her gums again. “I will hold him still. Just make sure to line up your strike. One clean blow and it will all be over, we can live together forever. Just me and you, my darling, the Count and Countess of Silverwater. It is so close I can taste it.”
One clean blow.
Chapter 32
Ulam
Where am I? What is this?
Ulam was in a world of darkness; he did not know where or who he was. His body was falling, slowly twisting and turning. He felt like he was in the ocean, at the mercy of the waves, being pushed and pulled by the tide. Eventually, his descent began to slow as a legion of white streaks appeared from the blackness, circling him. They began to cling to his skin, holding him upright, until he had finally stopped. More streaks of white created a solid foundation beneath his feet, painting in the darkness like an artisan with a black canvas. Then the streaks began to create a bridge, stone after stone laid across an invisible gap, leading to a towering gate.
The white streaks disappeared, their work finished. Suddenly there was a burst of color, the entire fabricated world lit by some unknown source. The bridge was a rustic reddish-brown, the sky a soft shade of blue, and the ground a vibrant green with swaying grass. He did not know what to do, nor where to go. With the rush of chromaticity, he could see a radiant ligh
t shining above the gate, like a beacon directing a ship to shore. Without any deliberation, he began walking towards the gate, driven by the beauty he saw like a moth to a flame. But with every step, he felt an emptiness growing within him. At first, the feeling was negligible, but by the end the void inside had all but consumed him. He felt soulless, as though his body was a vase without any flowers.
Ulam was close enough to touch the gate; he could sense a powerful aura dwelling from the other side. He gently placed a hand on the bars before him and watched as gold wisps entwined themselves around his wrist. He pulled away, the wisps disappearing like smoke. He placed his hand back on the door and the wisps returned, circling him once more. He pushed the gate open, and stood in a room filled with rays of golden light.
There was a pearl silhouette in the middle of the room, as tall as Ulam and with a feminine form. It floated across the room as he entered, the golden wisps around his arms and legs melting away as she approached. Though Ulam had no idea what was happening he felt no fear, his capacity to feel having vanished. Without any hesitation the silhouette entered his body, filling the emptiness inside him. He could feel her in his mind, searching his memories, causing him to relive his life. He watched in chronological order his childhood and adolescence, spent mostly on the slopes of Mount Meganthus or with a book at home. He then watched his departure from Accaria, aboard a ship heading for the mainland, which eventually landed south of a city named Silverwater. He remembered the fight in the marketplace, followed by the house fire. He watched the ambush, as well as the night he spent in the Orc Sanctuary. He finally saw the battle in Silverwater, where the Mad Raven and her Flock had infiltrated the castle. His last memory being a fight with a man dressed as a wolf, and then finding himself here.
The Mad Raven's Tale (The Accarian Chronicles Book 1) Page 26
