The Living Night: Box Set

by Jack Conner

  The assassins frowned. Could it be possible that, now whole, Kiernevar had run off? Was he now more sane or more insane than he’d been before? And where the hell would he go?

  The Balaklava gathered up a posse of deaders and gave them orders to retrieve Kiernevar. With that taken care of, they decided they’d better use the lackluster werewolf for the moment; evidently Kiernevar might just turn out to be interesting, after all.

  Once Laslo’s Collage was finished, they felt the familiar rush of completing a great piece of art—even if the third prong of the tail wasn’t perfect. Some things couldn’t be helped. They told Laslo to keep practicing and moved off to gather their elite and well-kept troops, then moved into the large Feeding Room that Junger and Jagoda shared with the Libertarians. The assassins’ disgust with the other shades doubled every time they saw the Libertarians, but they recognized Maleasoel as a necessary evil, a means to an end.

  They settled back into their blackened thrones, sculpted entirely out of bone, and let Lyshira ease their tensions, then sent her over to the Libertarian side to deliver a message to Maleasoel. Within minutes, Capt. Raulf D’Aguila, escorted by Lyshira, shoved through the tide of zombies into the Balaklava’s inner court.

  “You may go,” they told Lyshira, and she disappeared into the fetid throng.

  The Captain turned a glare from one assassin to the other. “You requested my presence, damnit. Now what do you have to say?”

  “Would you care to join our side, Captain?” Junger said.

  D’Aguila just snorted.

  “We didn’t think so. Now, for business. We see from your side of the fence that things have changed.”

  “I’m marshalling the troops for war. That is, if you’re still willing to lend us the promised aid.”

  “Oh, we wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Jagoda. “Our zombies and Collages will prove a great benefit to your cause. That is, assuming dear Francois Mauchlery doesn’t surrender first.”

  “You’re the ones with spies up there. Would you tell us if he did, or would you let us proceed with the attack anyway?”

  “Good Captain, we’re shocked! You think us capable of something like that?”

  Raulf glowered but said nothing.

  They laughed. “Yes. Well, to lay your mind at rest, we’ll inform you if he does surrender, however unlikely that might be. It’s going to be like that battle a few years back, what was it? Oh, of course. The Alamo. A handful of haggard heroes surrounded by overwhelming odds. No. They won’t surrender, but we’ll let you know if they do.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No, good Captain,” said Jagoda. “Our original battle plans still stand, though now we have one more Collage to aid in your war.”

  “Am I dismissed?”

  “Only if you want to be.”

  He stalked off toward his own side of the fence, and the assassins’ laughter followed him all the way.

  Junger and Jagoda watched the Libertarians in silence for the next half hour as the army gathered itself, reaffirmed its purpose and tactics, then leaned forward as Maleasoel rose from her stupid throne to give her subjects a speech. Junger and Jagoda knew from the studied words she used that she expected bards to be memorizing the whole fucking thing.

  Well, that was to be expected. The Balaklava had made her into what she was now, or at least they’d used her own weaknesses to do the job for them, and now they had to live with her, pompous and irritating as she was. Nonetheless, she would serve her purpose well.

  At last, when the Libertarians were assembled, Junger and Jagoda sent over the sixty promised zombies and two Collages—both Sonia and Laslo. The Collages were to act as muscle for the Libertarians, and also to deal with Francois Mauchlery or any other kavasari in order to spare the Libertarians the effort and troops to vanquish such foes with their own resources. The third Collage the Balaklava kept for themselves, as well as the rest of their undead army.

  When the Libertarians were finally saddled up and ready to leave, the Mistress Maleasoel came (surrounded by a host of guards and lackeys) to the border dividing the room. Junger and Jagoda, unescorted, hopped off their thrones and met her.

  “Going so soon?” Jagoda said.

  She sucked in a large swallow of air. “We’re preparing to leave. I’m leaving behind some of my soldiers, a few humans, and my best mindthrusters to guard the last of my tactical nukes. You’re not to touch them, understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” they announced in unison, clicking their heels.

  “This is serious. If you so much as stare at those nukes too long, our alliance is severed. I’ll be checking in periodically with the humans to see if you’ve done anything stupid; if you have, the humans will give the order to detonate the weapons. And if you kill the humans in order to prevent this, the guards have strict orders to detonate the things anyway. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  “Can’t you hold off on that crap for awhile? In two hours, I’ll be Queen of the Castle. Do you really want to make an enemy of me now?”

  “Of course not. Our eyes shan’t tarry on the rockets.”

  “Good.”

  They knew they had her in a bind, and they knew she knew it too. She couldn’t take her fiercest weapons up into the battle for fear they’d get shot and discharge, and having nowhere else to stash them she would leave them here under heavy guard. The Balaklava just smiled and nodded.

  “Good luck, dear, sweet, mistress Malie,” Junger said.

  She shot them a final withering look and spun on her heel.

  Finally, the great army of immortals, zombies, human fodder and Collages filed noisily out of the room, leaving the Balaklava alone with their own diminished army, one Collage, and the three nuclear weapons on the other side of the fence. All three hovered in the air, suspended by Malie’s mindthrusters. As if that were any sort of protection. In any case, the assassins didn’t want the weapons, not yet. They had bigger fish to fry.

  They left the chamber and took their whole army with them back to the Feeding Room in which they’d raised Laslo. Their thrones were uprooted and carried behind them. When the Room was reached, the Balaklava indicated a spot, and the zombies set the thrones down, careful not to leave a single scratch. Once seated, Junger and Jagoda ordered the zombies to feed from the remaining human captives and to bring them blood.

  The blood-slaves obeyed. Afterwards, feeling the energies flooding them, Junger and Jagoda felt only half whole.

  “We must quench the thirst of our Balaklavian sides,” Jagoda said.

  “Indeed.”

  They commanded their zombies to bring them the dying humans, the ones just savaged a moment ago, and broke apart their bodies and bones. At last, sated with bone marrow and with blood filtered through dead flesh, the assassins felt whole.

  “Now, for Kiernevar,” Junger said.

  “Where could he be?”

  They searched the Sabo with their mind but found no trace of the lunatic. Either he’d found some way to conceal himself or else he’d broken free. But even at this thought, they smiled. A wild card indeed.

  They settled back, readying themselves for the battle to come. If their calculations were correct, Amelia should be arriving any time.

  They lit up two huge cigars and let their minds drift. Sooner or later, the showdown would come. And Amelia would be theirs.

  Then ... then ...

  * * *

  Cloire and Harry, at the head of a squad of Castle soldiers, were half-way down a stone catwalk leading to one of the many battlements when Harry put a hand on her arm and said, “Wait.”

  “What is it?” Cloire snapped.

  They’d searched four towers already. The soldiers had already been through them but were unsure if they’d missed Byron or not—they had a description, but it was vague—so they’d all had to go through them again. Cloire hated this shit. She was growing bored, listless, ready to vent on anyone in her way, but Harry’s expre
ssion of concentration pushed back her anger, at least a bit.

  “What is it?” she said again, more quietly.

  “A message from Ruegger …”

  The soldiers had stopped behind them, but they looked more patient that Cloire felt.

  When she realized that Ruegger and Harry were engaged in a long talk, she sighed with disgust and let her eyes roam the courtyards and fountains and catwalks and great towers of the Upper Castle. It was kind of beautiful, really. She could see that already a small assemblage of shades, maybe thirty, plus their human servants, had gathered in the Main Courtyard, probably to avoid the rush for front-row positions.

  Crisp winds blew all about her and she wished for the thousandth time she’d brought a heavier jacket, other than the skin-tight glossy black leather mini-jacket she wore now. Back in the room, fighting the cold had been the last thing on her mind.

  She’d been thinking of Byron and how she hoped to reach him before some soldiers did. She considered it good fortune that this squad had offered their aid; apparently, the Dark Lord (whoever the hell that was these days) had commanded it. This way, she might be able to reach By first, somehow disarm him of the nuke (and thus rendering him a very minor threat) before the bloodthirsty soldiers could blow open his skull. That image sharpened in her mind, as did her resolve not to let it go down that way.

  Her gaze landed on a couple sitting on a stone bench below in one of the courtyards, right beside a grand fountain that jetted arcs of crystalline water through the air to catch on the sparkling light of the stars and half-risen moon. Not far away loomed a beautifully-carved statue rendered of granite, depicting the likeness of a beautiful woman with a massive sword in one hand and a globe of the Earth in the other. The implication was obvious. In the hand that the sphere rested, she seemed to be saying, Shades, we hold the world in our hands. In the other, where she carried the sword, she posed a question: Now, what do we do with it?

  The lovers were kissing and groping each other, and above them, heaving itself like a fat Mississippi sheriff over the Castle’s walls, the moon was bright and suggestive. Live it up while you can, Cloire thought, watching them. If we don’t find Byron soon, you’ll be nothing but scattered ash glowing in the dark in a few hours.

  “Cloire.”

  Harry’s voice nearly made her jump.

  “Yeah? What’d the fucking Marshal want?”

  “He said that the speech to be given tonight is very important. Mauchlery and Roche Sarnova have something planned. Something big. Anyway, he said it would be faster if both you and I split up.”

  “Tell him we’ve got the T-shirt, already.”

  “You know what I mean, Cloire. If we searched for Byron separately, we’d speed things up a lot.”

  She frowned. She didn’t want Harry to leave, as much as the thought irked her. Somewhere down in the stupid sentimental part of her brain, she’d half hoped that this little quest would bring him back to her. She wanted him down on his knees, begging her to let him back, groveling and licking her boot-heels. Boots which she’d then promptly kick him with. Probably.

  “Fuck it,” she said. “Go on, Harry. Soldiers! Divide thy selves. Harry and I are going to search separately to speed this along some. You, Popescu and your guys, come with me. The other half—with Harry. You search the east and south sides, we’ll do the west and north. If we haven’t found him by then, we’ll meet at the mid-catwalk to discuss battle plans.”

  Harry studied her face and her gestures, but couldn’t seem to figure her out. Never would, most likely.

  “Good luck,” he said.

  “Whatever. Happy hunting, Harry.”

  He gave her an odd look. “No. I think it right that you be the one to find him.”

  He reached out a hand in parting. When she just stared at it, he shrugged and went on his way, soldiers in tow. Soon he was lost to sight behind their taller shapes.

  “Good luck,” she whispered back.

  Heading her column of soldiers, who in turn were commanded by Popescu, she marched to the end of the catwalk, where it met one of the many battlements surrounding the Upper Courtyard. Four sentries guarded the tower, but they didn’t bring their arms to bear at her approach.

  “Well met,” the leader called.

  She growled, and he retreated a step. He could be a zombie, for all she knew, and even if he wasn’t, his archaic mode of address annoyed her.

  “We’re here to search the tower,” she said.

  “Aye, my lady, but may I ask why? I mean, yon soldiers have already searched this tower, turned it upside down looking for something or someone, then went on their way, without much of a word to us. We’ve seen you search the other towers, too. What goes on, and why the second search?”

  “Because yon fucking soldiers didn’t know who the fuck they were looking for the first time around. Now I’m here and ready to set things straight. You, Yon-boy, you going to make it difficult for me?”

  The soldier straightened. “My name is Sergeant Reynolds, my lady. Please address me by my—”

  “Put a cork in it, Renny. Now get the fuck out of my way!”

  She whistled over her shoulder and Popescu and his soldiers marched forward. She shoved past Reynolds and the other sentries and into the tower itself. This first level, and indeed the rest of the tower till it reached the top, was circular in shape and no more than fifty or so feet in diameter. As she stepped further into the room, her eyes recorded every detail: the many windows (perfect for snipers); the torches; the storage room; and, lastly, the spiraling staircase that led to a landing on the second level.

  From the sound of dusty boots on the floor above, she knew more tower soldiers waited above, and she thought to herself that this was the perfect place for an ambush. Once Popescu and the rest were in here, the sentries would start shooting from the back while the soldiers above rained missiles down. But this had been the layout of the other four towers, and after the first three the adrenaline she felt when entering this most vulnerable area had dropped to nominal. Still, she held her breath as Popescu and his soldiers stormed in behind her.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  “Let’s check the rest of this place out, but first get some of your guys to pop that storage room. Byron could be hiding in there.”

  He nodded. She always demanded they check the storage room and, as always, they found nothing in there now but weapons and changes of clothing.

  She shrugged and, flanked by two soldiers, led the way up the spiraling staircase to the next level where they were met by another weary group of guards. As always, her temper and the sight of Poppy’s soldiers stole the ire from their eyes, but the guards still seemed irked the whole time their level was searched.

  Two rooms on this floor: the storage room and a small barracks. Neither contained Byron, and Cloire soon led Popescu and his men up to the third floor (with similar results) and then the fourth, the final level.

  Some of these old battlements had roofs, some didn’t. This one, like a picture in a fantasy book of old castles, did not. Its spiral staircase ended in the open air of a stone disc fifty or so feet in diameter, its thick wall notched and ending at waist-level, so the soldiers could both shelter themselves from attack from below and fire down on enemies.

  However, and very unlike a picture-book battlement, this one had an enormous missile launcher rolled to the far side, aimed up at the crest of the mountain in case the Red Light Outpost was ever overrun and assailants swept down from the mountain and onto the Castle.

  The soldiers here were harder and graver than the ones below, but less put out than the others had been. There was nothing and no one to hide up here, and no place to hide them in any event, and they knew it.

  Cloire turned to Popescu. “Nada, Pops. Cross number five off and let’s get on to the next one.”

  “You sure none of these guards are zombies?”

  “Fuck, Poppy, for all I know you could be one, so don’t let’s start a witch-hunt al
ready. Okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  His people made sure Byron wasn’t hanging off the edge to avoid them and concluded their search by interrogating the guards on top of the tower. No one had seen anything.

  Satisfied, they all trundled down the spiraling staircase until they reached the lowest level, where they were met by Reynolds and his sentries again. Cloire licked her lips flirtatiously at the embittered Reynolds, who blinked, then led the way to the sixth tower—rather, the seventh, for she could see Harry and his squad emerging from the tower opposite hers, across the great gaping expanse of the courtyard. Their eyes met and he shook his head. She returned the gesture and—with Lt. Popescu by her side and his soldiers at her back—proceeded to check out the next destination.

  Other than the fact that this one had a roof and required an attic inspection, this search was pretty much like the last one, except that this particular tower had not been searched before. Finally. Cloire was scouring virgin territory, and that is the one thing that kept her nerves alive as the evening wore on.

  But where could Byron be?

  Finally, after all the towers surrounding the Upper Courtyard (including the smaller tower from which Mauchlery would deliver his speech) had been searched and dismissed, Harry and Cloire met at the mid-catwalk that separated the Upper, or Southern, Courtyard from the Northern Courtyards.

  Just beyond the Upper Courtyard, which lay south, the catwalk looked down on the Northerns, which were divided into various sections. There was a large pool and a nearby open-air saloon, a garden, a small hedge-maze that still showed green even in winter, a gift shop, a restaurant, a canopied platform that served as a stage for both musicians and slavers ... The list went on.

  And of course there were the requisite fountains and sculptures, some statues of former Dark Lords and others either symbolic or simply to please the eye. Like much of the Castle, it was an area for tourists.

  As for the battlements that sprouted from the high walls of the Northern Courtyards, they were generally the same as those Cloire and Harry had just checked, with one exception: the towers grew in size the farther north they went. To the east was the abyss and to the west and north rose the mountain the Castle was embedded into.