Children of Shadows

by Naylor, Joleene

  “Y-yes,” the vampire stammered.

  “Such a pity.” Malick took a seat in his throne. “Arlen.”

  In a flash the wind walker was behind the prisoner, his sword buried in his back. The prisoner gave a moist, gurgling gasp then went limp. The blunt, hooked blade protruded from the prisoner’s chest, coated in gore.

  With a grunt of disgust, Arlen used his foot to push the body off of his sword. It fell in slow motion. Katelina could see the prisoner’s dead face in profile, eyes wide, a trickle of blood running from his gaping mouth, and then he landed on the floor. Blood pooled out beneath him and across the tiles, turning the mortared joints into little rivers.

  Malick waved his hand at his servants. “Clean that up.” It reminded Katelina of Fethillen ordering her underlings to clean up after the torture, and her stomach turned.

  Arlen’s weapon was bloody, and he strode from the room, no doubt to clean it off. A moment later a pair of vampires hurried in with towels. One hefted the fallen body and took it away while the other worked on the puddle left behind. Katelina watched as the towel swiped through the mess, smearing crimson across the yellow floor.

  Malick turned to his guests. “Will you not stay a while? Your journey was wearisome. Some rest? Refreshment?”

  “No,” Jorick answered firmly. “You have your prisoner back. Return ours.”

  “Always so serious! I thought another of you might take the reins of leadership on this quest.” His eyes moved to Verchiel. “She is more to you than she is to him. What an interesting tangle you have landed yourself in. A sister! Pity she did not come to us before. Though she does not have your talents, a sun walker is rare enough to have made a fit subject. How beautiful it would have been to see you fight side by side, violet eyes flashing with identical wrath.”

  Verchiel’s jaw tightened.

  “It’s not too late. My doors are always open to those who wish to enter. I have already come across some new converts.” His smile turned from benign to sinister and then back again so fast Katelina wasn’t sure she’d seen it.

  “And what are you gathering them for?” Jorick asked.

  “You already know, my son. Samael has risen. For the moment his thoughts turn to his household, and perhaps even to revenge, but once these things are satisfied he will turn again to the world which betrayed him. You have heard the legends—the end of the world, the destruction of all. I wonder what the truth will be, don’t you? What if he was to raise his army and sweep across the world in a sea of fire and blood? Should not someone make a force to oppose him?”

  Katelina felt herself agreeing. He was being sensible. They didn’t want that to happen. Perhaps they should…

  “Do not be taken in by cunning words and crafty tricks. His illusions are smoke, lift your hand and watch them drift away.”

  She blinked and looked sharply to her companions. It was only Fethillen, Jorick, Sorino, and Verchiel who remained unswayed. The others, even Sushel, nodded.

  “No,” Jorick said loudly. His voice broke the spell and the others stood blinking uncertainly. “You don’t want to defend the world, but rule it, and you’re hoping to goad Samael into a war; a glorious challenge and the final proof that you are supreme, that you stand above even those made before you. It’s the same as always. You’re trying to prove your worth.”

  Malick gave a deep, throaty laugh. “And so are we all. But who do we try to convince? Others or ourselves? You think my motives more complex than they are. When I left The Guild I thought only of entertainment, something new to quicken this near dead pulse. I sought Lilith with the same hope, a final completion of a quest long desired. Something that would remind me of my youth and its lofty dreams. But when I found what you had raised—” He broke off and his dark eyes shifted to Katelina. She could feel him, like a bead of burning light inside her mind.

  Get out!

  Malick’s laughter was so loud that Katelina had to cover her ears. “No! Not you, but your human! That is not what I expected. See? The world still holds surprises. How interesting that will be. And now I must confess I’d thought to keep you here, my son, a prize fought over by greater gods, but it seems you are not the chosen child. A pity. I thought it fitting that you, the child of self-imposed conscience, should stand in the ashes and watch the world burn.”

  Jorick remained rigid and Katelina tugged his sleeve. She rarely understood Malick, and this was no exception.

  “I should have guessed,” Malick continued. “On previous visits she was barely more than quivering jelly and yet now… But then the blood of ancients runs in her veins. Blood older than mine, and I think older even than those who set themselves up as the rulers of our world, who hide in their German basement and sleep the sleep of dead hearts. A pity she did not receive more, for a mortal child so new and yet so old would be something truly interesting.”

  Katelina could figure out who he was talking about now, and it terrified her. She knew what happened to people Malick found interesting.

  “We’re not here to discuss Katelina,” Jorick said forcefully. “We’re here for Ume.”

  “The child, the child! Yes, yes.” Malick clapped his hands and Arlen reappeared, his weapon clean. “Bring her so that Jorick may be satisfied.”

  Arlen bowed quickly and disappeared through the doorway again.

  “Does that satisfy you, my son? I doubt it, for nothing will ever truly please you. Then again, can any except the blind sheep of the world claim to be truly satisfied? Those meant for greatness will always feel the gnawing under their skin, the desire for something ‘more’, though so few can really comprehend what it is they crave. And those of us who do…well, others would foist their labels upon us. Maniac, fiend, monster. Such petty words from petty minds. But then, the world is pettiness.”

  Arlen came through the door, followed by Cyprus and his prisoner. Ume’s dark hair fell around her shoulders and her face was still smeared with old blood and dirt. Her uniform was torn in several places, and Katelina could see gaps of pale flesh. Were they where she’d been wounded in the fight, or were they done after the fact?

  Sorino’s eyes gleamed and he called, “Here he is, the new Father of Shadows, holder of the sacred seal.”

  Momentary confusion wiped the hatred from Cyprus’ face, but it returned and he glared at Wolfe. Ume looked at them with wide, surprised eyes, as if she hadn’t expected anyone to come. Verchiel stepped toward her, but Cyprus moved in front of her with an angry snarl.

  “Do not be so hasty,” Malick said. “You came for a trade, and a trade I will have, though now I would ask a different prize.” His dark eyes moved to Katelina.

  Jorick snarled. “You asked for the prisoner and we gave him to you!”

  “Yes, you did, but I never said he was the exchange price.”

  What had Griselda said? “Master says you have brought someone with you who belongs to him and he would demand his return.”

  That someone wasn’t the prisoner—it was Jorick.

  Fethillen studied him. “Your message said you didn’t want a trade. Was that a lie?”

  “Oh no,” Malick said cheerfully. “The message was true. I am not interested in trading for the Scharfrichter, as Cyprus is.”

  Fethillen demanded, “If they are your enemy, why is their leader under your roof?”

  “Because he is my prisoner. Does he not have a guard on him?” Malick gave her a wink and motioned to Arlen. “Come now, it is not so hard to understand.” He turned to Jorick. “You’ve come across such tactics before, though on a smaller scale.”

  As if the memory was forced into her mind, Katelina could see the council chambers in The Guild’s citadel. A human woman sagged, answering questions in a monotone voice, explaining how the vampire Traven had ordered her to sweep into covens during the day, murder those he deemed unimportant, then, once the sun set, another vampire would recruit the survivors for Traven’s coven.

  That’s what Malick’s doing! The Children of Shadows destr
oyed the citadels and then someone recruited the survivors—the strongest vampires—for Malick’s personal army. That was why the Children were both his servants and his enemies, because publicly he had to disown them, but in private it was another matter.

  Jorick asked, “You would stoop to copy someone so low?”

  “It is hardly a copy, but has been done time and again over the centuries. Even so, if the tactics are sound why not use them? You do not disregard a tool because you care not for the man who used it last.”

  “And Memnon?” Fethillen asked. “You’ve sworn to resurrect him?”

  Malick laughed. “Memnon burned, child, as you well know. You were there, weren’t you? When the great pyre was built and he was thrown bodily, bound and trussed, among the flames. You heard his screams as his flesh melted and his fat sizzled. Memnon is ashes and nothing can resurrect ashes, except magic.”

  “There’s no such thing!” Fethillen snapped.

  “Of course there isn’t, but the sheep are happy to believe in it, and who am I to shatter their illusions? They will serve their purpose, and if they complain at the end they will meet the same fate as others deemed unworthy. I can see that you wonder about the videos; those messages sent out to so many places. The answer is simple enough, and that is to draw the old ones in. Any who do not know the name of Memnon are too young for my notice or interest, but those that do, well, they are old enough to be of some worth, and if they know his name they know his deeds. What child of that long ago age did not despise Memnon and his bloody followers? No, even as the weak and terrified run from their citadels, the older blood will make their way to them, anxious to destroy what they once thought dead, and then, when the ashes settle and the banner of the golden eye comes among them and says ‘Join me! We killed Memnon once and we will destroy his legacy!’ they will come. They will flock to me and to my army, and together we will do something glorious.” He held out his arms.

  “As if that would work.” Fethillen sneered.

  Malick laughed, rich and deep, like ringing caverns. “Ah, but it has, child. The name of hate has already drawn many to me. I would show you their numbers, but I’m afraid it’s time for my unhappy prisoner to escape. How interesting that he waited until you arrived to take the chance. It’s only natural my guards will jump to the conclusion that one or all of you are helping him. Such a pity, but in the end I will have what I want.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  As if that was a signal, Cyprus threw Ume to the floor and drew a hooked machete from inside his coat. With a snarl he charged at Wolfe, swinging back the weapon to strike. Wolfe jerked his many bladed weapon from his belt and met him with a clash of steel.

  Micah and Loren drew their bowie knives in unison and dropped into defensive stances. Fethillen grabbed her sickle from the hook on her belt and spun toward Cyprus. He dodged the blow and whirled away, his red hair flying around him like a fiery curtain.

  Several vampires in long black coats hurried into the room. One carried a long scythe, like a grim reaper, and another a spiked hammer. Katelina tugged the jagged folding knife from her pocket and stared at the contrast. It was better than nothing, but what could she hope to do against weapons like that?

  Sushel and Quenby swirled toward the newcomers and together attacked a vampire who wielded an axe. They took turns, so that as he swung at one the other would attack. Katelina could easily see how a whole group of them had defeated her own rag tag bunch.

  Jorick made an impatient noise in his throat and moved to shield Katelina. “Stay back,” he ordered, and then charged at Griselda. The blonde vampiress hefted her massive gun and aimed. Before she could fire Malick called, “Tut, tut, mind the paint, my child.”

  Griselda threw the gun aside and whipped out a pair of daggers. The heavy weapon landed on the floor with a thud, and Katelina eyed it. Guns rarely worked on vampires, but if Griselda had one it probably had ammo that would. It had to be better than the paltry knife.

  Jorick crashed into Griselda. She stumbled back, slashing. She wasn’t as adapt at close quarters as some of the others, no doubt used to handling the heavier weapons from a distance, and Jorick was able to knock one of the daggers from her hand and pin her to the floor. He pulled back to slam his fist into her chest when the vampire with the spiked hammer swung with enough force to send Jorick sprawling into the plants. One of the pots shattered at the impact and dirt scattered. Katelina bit back a cry as Jorick pulled up to his knees. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead.

  Verchiel drew his sword, then disappeared and reappeared next to the vampire with the scythe. He wielded the sword in one hand and the scabbard in the other, using both as weapons.

  Arlen swooped in. He caught Verchiel’s blade and knocked it spinning across the room in a blur of silver. It landed near Sorino, who grabbed it and speared the nearest enemy. The vampire gave a cry of surprise and reared back to attack as Kai lifted a three barreled pistol and pulled the trigger.

  The noise echoed through the room, and Katelina covered her ears. Kai dropped back and disappeared among a forest of palms, no doubt to reload. Ume was weaponless, but she ran to Fethillen. The blonde vampiress clashed with a vampire who swung a short axe. With a cry Ume kicked the vampire’s legs out from beneath him. He crashed to the floor and Fethillen used the sickle to chop his head off. Loren rushed in and stabbed his bowie knife through the vampire’s chest, as though to make sure he was dead.

  Blood pooled from the stump of his neck, and Verchiel landed in it as he bounded away from Arlen. He disappeared again, but Katelina could see the scarlet footprints appearing like magic; bright against the yellow tiles.

  From above Malick clapped loudly. “The first casualty!” It was as if he was watching an arena show.

  That’s what it is to him, Katelina thought. Just entertainment.

  Like everything else.

  Cyprus and Jorick grappled; Cyprus’ machete was missing, leaving him with bare fists. Jorick was both faster and stronger, and knocked the red haired vampire to the floor. He landed partially in a puddle of blood, and smeared it across the tiles as he rolled to avoid Jorick’s swinging fist.

  Micah swung Cyprus’ machete at the vampire with the large axe. Loren had snatched up the small axe from the dead and snuck behind their foe. Micah feinted to the right with a cry of “Now!” and Loren swung his short axe and embedded it into their attacker’s back. The teen tried to pull it free, but wasn’t strong enough with only one hand. The vampire spun toward him with a cry of agony, then fell to his knees, his body twitching.

  Micah grinned and lashed at the vampire’s head with the machete. The blade didn’t cut all the way through, and Micah swung again.

  Katelina looked away from the flying gore and gagged.

  Cyprus went after Wolfe. The Scharfrichter dodged but, as if Cyprus had used his demon eye ability to see that in advance, he changed directions at the last second and embedded the blade of his hooked machete in Wolfe’s shoulder. He pulled it loose with a spray of blood and Wolfe stumbled. Cyprus’s deep brown eyes burned with bitter fury as he raised his weapon for a second attack. “You win, Wolfe. You’ll see her before I do.”

  Her? Of course. He still thought Sadihra was dead.

  Jorick slammed his fist into Cyprus’ back. The vampire gave a cry of surprise and his blow landed short. Wolfe swung his weapon and the curved portion of the blade sliced through Cyprus’ arm. He pulled back and clamped his free hand to the bleeding wound with a snarl. Wolfe was poised to strike again, but Arlen appeared and sliced at the Scharfrichter with a smaller multi-bladed weapon, leaving long angry gashes down one side of his face and knocking him aside.

  Cyprus charged Wolfe, but Jorick sent the redhead spinning. Cyprus swung around and snarled. “Get out of my way, Jorick!”

  Jorick’s expression was of a tolerant adult to a demanding child. “Or what?”

  A second black coated vampire made to attack Jorick from behind, and without even looking, he slammed his
elbow into the vampire’s gut. The attacker stumbled backward and Jorick turned around long enough to catch him in a headlock and snap his neck with a sickening crunch. He threw the limp body toward Oren, and his fledgling used his own knife to cut the vampire’s still beating heart from his chest.

  Katelina crept from her cover toward Griselda’s abandoned gun. The fighting had shifted to the other side of the room and the weapon lay alone and unnoticed. She looked up in time to see Griselda and Quenby dueling. Quenby’s face was wooden, but Griselda’s was furious and streaked in blood. She’d lost one of her daggers, but she jabbed dangerously with the other. Quenby’s weapons had a longer reach, and she danced back and swung her sickles. With an angry sound, Griselda snatched the heavy spiked club from her ally’s hands and slammed the weapon into Quenby. The vampiress flew backwards and smashed into a collection of plants.

  Katelina froze, crouched next to the giant gun. Quenby struggled to her feet, but her sickles were missing. She turned to look for them as Griselda crashed down on her. Fethillen kicked away her foe and rushed toward her colleague, but she wasn’t fast enough. Quenby half turned, one arm raised as a shield, and Griselda gave a cry and drove her dagger upwards, under her ribs. She fell back into the ruined plants and Griselda jerked her bloody blade free and turned in time to meet Fethillen.

  Katelina stared at Quenby’s crumpled body, waiting for her to move. Griselda bumped against one of the pots and Quenby’s head jostled to one side. Katelina had a view of her pale face; mouth open and wide eyes staring at nothing.

  She was dead.

  Griselda heaved the heavy spiked hammer at Fethillen, and she swirled away, leaving the blow to land on the vampire Kai had blinded with his pistol. Katelina could hear the crunch of bones as the weapon connected, and the vampire gave a roar of pain and fell back into the fountain with a splash.

  Fethillen and Griselda continued to fight. Fethillen’s movements were smooth and practiced, while Griselda’s were erratic and angry. She bled from several wounds, and Fethillen slammed into her bodily, knocking her back against one of the black pillars. The war hammer flew from her grasp and, weaponless, she charged Fethillen. In a practiced move, Fethillen kicked her legs out from under her and then swung the sickle. Katelina fought not to throw up as the weapon sliced through Griselda’s neck, leaving her head hanging off to one side, only partially attached. As if to make sure she was done for, Fethillen hacked into Griselda’s chest. It was the last of the Executioners who’d left with Malick; the last of those who’d pledged their loyalty to him over The Guild. Katelina imagined he’d be furious.