Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  Astrid peered inside the doors but saw nothing but darkness. Typical of Cabral; he would want her visit to be as disorienting as possible. She looked behind her, and noticed a few passersby were staring at her. Based on their expressions, Sandea had been correct; Cabral did not have many visitors. Let alone the famed child-scholar, Lucia Oroden.

  Astrid swept through the open doors, uncomfortably aware of how much like a gaping maw they seemed. The darkness within swallowed her, and the doors closed with a creak.

  “Hello?” she called out into darkness. Astrid had very little trouble seeing things in darkness that would cloud a normal person’s vision, but it took a moment even for her eyes to adjust.

  No response came. She was in a hallway, grim and joyless, without paintings or tapestries. Cabral had not changed in that respect, it seemed. The arrow-slits were covered with dark cloth, blocking all light.

  Hearing footsteps, Astrid turned to see a woman walking towards her, a candle cupped in both hands. She was dressed in fine clothes, soft silks that plunged in a deep neckline, exposing the skin between her breasts. And yet she curtseyed to Astrid with humility. A servant, then.

  “You’re the Lady Lucia Oroden?” the servant asked. Her smile was joyless, and Astrid saw she was young. Hardly a woman at all, no more than six or seven years Astrid’s senior. There were ragged scars, across her neck and chest.

  “I am,” Astrid said. “I am to meet Master Cabral for dinner.”

  There’s nothing you can do for her, Astrid said to herself, eyeing the girl’s scars. Not now, at least. You can’t throw away the business at hand on a whim.

  “Follow me, please. I shall escort you to the great hall.”

  The servant girl turned at the end of the hallway, and climbed a curving stairwell. Astrid followed in the darkness. They emerged into another hallway as austere as the last, but now Astrid heard echoes in the distance—laughter, conversation, faint clattering. The girl led her to a tall archway, through which she could see the great hall.

  It has been decades, she told herself. You’re not who you were then. Neither, probably, is he. You can do this.

  A hearth burned brightly at one end of the great hall. Attractive men and women sat around a long, rectangular table, each of them dressed impeccably. Servants—young boys and girls, clad in expensive but rather revealing clothing, similar to Astrid’s guide—were removing empty plates, serving food, and refilling bejeweled goblets. Astrid grimaced as her mouth watered involuntarily at the thought of what might be in the goblets.

  Cabral sat at the head of the table, his combed, unfettered golden hair falling around his shoulders, his face smooth-shaven. The other diners seemed less bright, both in appearance and demeanor; the men were more rugged, their dark hair worn short, with stubble and beards. The women, even in their colorful gowns, were paler than Cabral.

  “Ah,” Cabral said, “my dear Lucia Oroden. I’m so pleased you could come. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

  “Thank you for the invitation,” Astrid said, sitting at the chair on the opposite end of the table to Cabral. “And please, call me Astrid. No need for pretense.”

  The chair was massive, dwarfing Astrid’s small frame, but she tried to make herself comfortable, putting her feet up on the dining table. Cabral’s Fangs—at least that’s what he had called his minions decades ago—gave her a few odd glances, and one of the servant girls almost poured one of the goblets to overflowing, unable to take her eyes off Astrid. The man whose goblet she was filling nudged her, and the girl stopped herself just in time.

  Cabral’s smile widened. “Astrid. Of course. I did not know whether you would be willing to forego your alias, even in closed company. But I’m glad you have. It’s good to see an old friend.”

  Astrid returned his smile, shifting in the stupidly massive chair. “It is good, isn’t it?” She lifted herself just a touch so she could peek at the plate of the nearest man.

  “Well, what are we having?” she asked.

  Cabral laughed. “Of course. My manners have truly deteriorated, haven’t they? We have so little company these days, we forget ourselves.” Cabral clapped his hands. “Mutton and veal for our guest, please. And to drink…” Cabral looked at Astrid, one eyebrow raised.

  “The usual,” Astrid said. “If you can remember it.”

  Cabral laughed again, harder this time. He seemed in a positive mood. “The usual! Let me see if I can recall… yes, yes, I believe I do.” Cabral turned to a servant boy standing at his shoulder. This one, Astrid noticed, had no visible scars on his neck. Not yet, anyway. Astrid pitied the lad.

  “A goblet of sanguinar, spiked with brandy,” Cabral told the boy. He looked back at Astrid. “Am I correct?”

  Astrid spread her hands out wide. “You remember, Olin. I’m flattered.”

  Cabral nodded to the boy, who glided away. Then he let out a long sigh. “Astrid, Astrid. It has been so long. How are you?”

  “Well enough. I see the years continue to treat you kindly.”

  “They do, don’t they? What of this alias of yours, Lucia Oroden? Do people believe you?”

  Astrid snorted. “Of course they believe me. The question is how long they’ll continue.”

  “The curse of our kind.”

  “I don’t recognize any of the Fangs,” Astrid said, looking at the men and women around the table. “Is that what you still call them? Or have you lost them all?”

  “Oh, how rude of me. I’ve yet to make introductions. Yes, I’m afraid you won’t recognize any of my friends here today. If you want to call them Fangs, I suppose you may. Although I have one out on a little errand of mine, who should be returning any day now. I’m sure you’ll recognize him. You do remember Trave?”

  Astrid’s breath caught in her throat, just for a moment. If there was anyone she hated more than Cabral, it was Trave, Cabral’s right-hand man. Cabral was cruel, but he was clever and at least had the pretense of manners. He could be reasoned with. Trave, on the other hand, was nothing but a monster.

  “Ah, I see that you do. Perhaps he will return in time to chat with you. I’m sure you both have much to catch up on. Trave has… not been the same, since you left. As you might imagine.”

  Astrid forced a smile. “I’m sure we’ve all changed to some degree,” she said.

  “Now, as for these others…” Cabral proceeded to introduce the Fangs around the table. Astrid was surprised to note, as she looked at each of them more closely, that they had not all contracted the curse of the Ventus. Four of them had; the four that sat closest to Cabral, and only two of them had fully undergone the process. The other two were pale, sickly, their eyes a dull yellow color. They were in transition; whether they would survive was yet to be seen.

  Cabral’s unscarred servant boy soon returned, placing a plate of red meat and a goblet of even redder liquid before Astrid. The smell of the sanguinar was so strong that Astrid had to physically stop herself from downing the entire goblet in one go; instead, she lifted it slowly, and glanced at Cabral.

  “To old friends,” Astrid said, raising the goblet.

  Cabral nodded. “To old friends,” he repeated, raising his own. His eyes turned to the Fangs, who quickly followed suit.

  “To old friends,” they muttered.

  Astrid took a sip of the sanguinar, the delightful liquid pouring down her throat, filling her with warmth and an essence she had not felt in years.

  As Astrid ate, she engaged in conversation with Cabral. The others around the table remained relatively silent, occasionally whispering to one another but, for the most part, concentrating on Astrid. Their stares made her supremely uncomfortable; Cabral’s company had changed as little as Cabral himself, it seemed. While none of the faces looked familiar, Astrid could almost see their direct counterparts in the gang that Astrid had known during her last visit.

  “I see you still prefer your dour aesthetic,” Astrid said, stuffing a forkful of veal into her mouth.

  Cabral gri
maced. “Dour? Quite the opposite, my dear.”

  “You still enjoy burning art, then?” Astrid asked.

  “Of course I do. What else would one do with it?”

  Astrid shook her head, and took another sip of sanguinar. She was trying to ration herself; she did not know if Cabral would deign to refill her cup, and she wanted it to last.

  “Art is meant to be consumed, is it not?” Cabral asked. “I only consume it in a far more permanent way.”

  “You don’t consume it, Olin,” Astrid said. “I know you like to think you absorb it somehow, but all you do is destroy it. That’s not as philosophical as you like to make it sound.”

  “I burn paintings and tapestries. I cause ancient sculptures to crumble to dust. I consume the artists that created them. What more could one want?”

  Astrid shrugged. “I don’t think much about it.”

  “An undecorated home is the best kind. The absence of decoration is the decoration.”

  Astrid took another bite of veal. “Too philosophical,” she said, her mouth full. “Has the consumption of artists changed you?”

  “I’m always changing, my dear. That’s the beauty of living like we do.”

  Astrid snorted. “Funny. I always thought the horror of living like we do was that we never change at all.”

  Cabral laughed. “I’ve missed our little spats. Like an old married couple, are we not?” He looked around at his Fangs. “Can you believe she was once one of you?”

  There was nothing but the sound of utensils scraping on plates for the next few moments. Astrid appreciated the break in conversation. Dealing with Cabral was exhausting; he was a difficult man to please, and impossible to predict. She finished her meal quickly, and just as she was scraping the last morsels off her plate, a servant girl appeared to take it away.

  “Would you like more, ma’am?” The girl blushed. “I mean… my… my Lady… miss?”

  The Fangs laughed uproariously. Astrid turned to the servant girl—the same one who’d nearly spilled sanguinar over one of Cabral’s henchmen. Like the others, she wore revealing clothing, a jeweled necklace contrasting starkly with the scars on her neck.

  “No more, thank you. I’m full.”

  It’s all right, Astrid mouthed, but she was not sure the girl saw her as she took the plate and scurried out of the great hall. A smart move; best get out of sight before Cabral’s henchmen made an example of her.

  “Well,” Cabral said, “now that we’ve shared a meal, let’s get down to business. What brings you back to Turandel, my dear? When you left decades ago, I thought you would never return, unless it was to burn my house down.”

  “What makes you think that isn’t my reason for coming?” Astrid said.

  Cabral laughed. “Oh, Astrid. Tell me the truth.”

  “I’m helping a friend,” Astrid replied.

  Cabral’s eyebrows rose. “A friend, is it? I’m surprised you’ve managed to make one of those. I assume he’s a recent acquaintance? You’ve never been able to keep someone’s company for long.” Some of Cabral’s Fangs snickered.

  Astrid closed her eyes. “He is a recent acquaintance.” She wouldn’t let him get under her skin.

  “And what business do you have on his behalf?” The snickers turned to chuckles. Astrid ignored them. Cabral always chose idiots to elect to his “inner circle.” That would be the fool’s downfall one day.

  “I’m investigating the Storonams,” Astrid said, testing the waters.

  Cabral nodded. “Isn’t everyone? I might be able to help you if you just told me what in Oblivion you were looking for.”

  “Can you blame me for not? You’ve never made the greatest confidant.”

  Cabral frowned. Shit. She had gone too far. “Even so,” Cabral said, his eyes narrowing, “you should tell me anyway. I may be able to help, if I deem you worthy. But, if you don’t, I can certainly make your life difficult.”

  Astrid lifted her goblet, downing the last of her sanguinar. Cabral nodded at another servant boy, who began refilling her cup.

  Astrid looked up at the boy. “Just a touch more, please, but no more after this.” As much as she craved the drink, she couldn’t afford to lose her senses tonight. Not here, of all places. “Very well,” she went on. “You’re right, Cabral, I might as well tell you. I’m here to investigate the local Nazaniin presence.”

  A few of the Fangs whispered to one another. Astrid glanced at them, understanding. Vampires usually kept far away from Nazaniin triads. For good reason. When her gaze returned to Cabral, she had to flex every muscle in her body to keep from shuddering. He was staring at her, eyes narrowed, beginning to glow a horrible red color. The sun must be setting outside; where Astrid’s eyes glowed green at night, those of most other vampires she had met glowed red. Astrid was not sure what caused the difference. For all she knew it was as trivial as hair color, and she just happened to manifest a particularly rare version of it.

  “Who told you?” Cabral finally asked, after staring at Astrid for a moment, his eyes burning into her.

  Astrid swallowed hard. She lifted her goblet, taking another sip. “Told me what?”

  “Who told you about our issues with the Nazaniin?”

  Astrid’s eyes widened. “No one told me, Olin. If you have them, they are your own. My business with them does not concern you.”

  Cabral looked at each of his closest henchmen intently, his eyes burning. The eyes of the two who had made the transition to vampire had also begun to glow, while the two who were in the midst of the process remained pale and sickly. Each of the Fangs shook their heads.

  “No,” he said quietly, “none of you.” He turned back to Astrid. “You truly have not heard what has been going on here?”

  Astrid shook her head. “Nothing at all.” She raised her goblet, once more draining the sanguinar from it.

  “Curious,” Cabral whispered. “Curious, indeed. But perhaps this is what we need. A mosquito seems to be buzzing in both of our ears at once, my dear. We can destroy it together, once and for all.”

  The servant boy walked up to Astrid to refill her goblet. “What are you doing?” Cabral asked sternly.

  “I… I was just filling our guest’s cup once more, Your Grace,” the lad said. He was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen.

  “Did our guest ask you to fill her cup again?” Cabral asked.

  Astrid swallowed. She knew the outcome of this exchange.

  “I… no, Your Grace. She did not.”

  “What did she say the last time you filled it?”

  The boy hesitated and Astrid tried to interject. “Olin, I don’t care—”

  Cabral held up a hand, and Astrid knew better than to speak further. “What did she say?”

  “She said she did not want any more,” the boy whispered.

  Astrid looked around the room. The others at the table were glaring at the lad, their eyes burning with hunger. The other servants had all stopped what they were doing, empty eyes staring at their fellow.

  “She did say that, didn’t she? Why, then, did you go to fill her goblet again, my pet?”

  “My Lord, I’m terribly sorry. I forgot. It will not happen again, I swear.”

  “I’m sure it won’t,” Cabral said, smiling at the boy. “Grendine, ensure that he won’t make that mistake again, will you?”

  One of the Fangs at the table, a woman sick with the curse but not yet transitioned through it, stood up, a smile stretching across her pale, sickly face.

  Astrid trembled with anger and helplessness as Grendine strode up to the boy and struck him in the face. Astrid flinched. The lad spun with the force of the blow, landing on his hands and knees on the stone floor. Grendine kicked him, hard, in the abdomen, and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt with one hand, hitting him over and over in the face with the other. Then she drew a knife from her belt and nicked the soft skin of his neck, just below his jaw. Blood welled up. Grendine, still in the transition process, had no fangs or claws
, but she needed human blood to survive, far more blood than a fully developed vampire; Grendine’s hunger would be fierce and nearly insatiable.

  “Grendine has proven herself time and again,” Cabral said quietly, as Grendine closed her mouth around the boy’s neck, drinking greedily. “She is a great ally, and will soon be one of us. We look forward to that day with anticipation. Her transformation should be finished by the next new moon.”

  “I do not need to destroy the Nazaniin here,” Astrid said, changing the subject. There was nothing she could do to help the lad. “I just need information from them.”

  “Ah,” Cabral said, nodding. “But you could get your information from them, and then destroy them, could you not?”

  Astrid frowned. “I… I don’t know, Olin. I know nothing about their presence here. Tell me, and I can give you a more accurate answer.”

  Cabral nodded, seeming to have made up his mind. “The Nazaniin have a full triad in Turandel. An acumen, a telenic, and a voyant. Two of them are actuals, one a variant. They have been investigating us, you see. They have taken an interest in my dealings, in my business, in who I associate with. They have their suspicions about me and if they find out the truth, our time in Turandel will come to an end.”

  “So why haven’t you taken care of them yourself?”

  “Let’s just say that I’ve been waiting for the right moment. With you around, I might just have the manpower I need to mount the necessary attack.”

  The sound of Grendine drinking from the servant boy stopped. Grendine, wiping blood from her grinning mouth, walked back to her place at the table. A few servants rushed to the boy and took him out of the great hall. The boy was not dead; he was too valuable to be allowed to die. They would keep him alive, barely, until his next mishap.

  Astrid shivered. She hated to make a deal with Cabral, knowing what he was. But this might work. If Cabral gave her information about the cotir, if he could get her close to them, she might be able to find out more about Knot. The Storonams were all but a dead end; the Nazaniin were her last hope.

  “Can you do it?” Cabral asked.

  “If I get what I need from them,” Astrid said, “then yes, I will help you kill them.”