by Nathan Long
Lashmiya thrust out a hand and the crone went rigid with pain. Beads of blood welled from the pores of her face and hands like freckles, and red tears spilled from her eyes. The chamber fell silent as her limbs and torso began to twist and fold, as if caught in a massive invisible fist.
‘I said enough,’ said Lashmiya, her voice calm while the old woman shuddered and hissed in agony. ‘There are traitors in every army, and spies in every court, but their presence must not be allowed to paralyse us while the enemy steals march upon march on us. We will discover them in time, but we will not wait to act until they are found. There is no time.’
She lowered her hand and the old crone collapsed before the altar, gasping and sobbing and curling up to hug her knees as ribbons of blood trickled down her wrinkled cheeks and dripped on the stone floor.
‘Now,’ said Lashmiya, turning to the rest as if nothing had happened. ‘Report. What do we know of the Sylvanians’ plans, and what can we bring to bear against them?’
The assembled sisters hesitated, glancing uneasily at the fallen crone, but Countess Gabriella stood and curtseyed.
‘Mistress Lashmiya,’ she said, looking directly into the emissary’s eyes. ‘As you no doubt know, Karl Franz has left Altdorf and is travelling to Nuln. The stated reason is that he is leading his army to quell the “vampire uprising” here. The true reason is that Altdorf has become too dangerous. A terrible pox has swept the city, striking rich and poor alike, and has taken victims even within the Emperor’s palace. Rumours that the pox was spread by nobles who had slept with undead seductresses, and that Karl Franz himself is infected, have sparked riots and threats of assassination.’
‘And exposures too, mistress,’ said the long-haired child upon the back of the blinded slave. ‘All of my beloved sisters of Altdorf were found out, their disguises of wife, mistress and courtesan torn away. The mobs paraded their blackened bodies through the streets. They called it proof of a great vampire conspiracy.’
‘It is,’ said Gabriella. ‘Proof of a–’
‘Of a Sylvanian conspiracy,’ finished Lashmiya.
‘Yes, mistress,’ said Gabriella. ‘We believe the Sylvanians are behind all of it – the pox, the exposures, the uprisings that forced Karl Franz to send his most trusted guardians away from him. All these things were done to strip the Emperor of his defences and drive him into the open. They may even have had a hand in turning him towards Nuln.’
‘And you believe the Sylvanians mean to assassinate him here,’ said Lashmiya, ‘and throw the Empire into civil war.’
‘Yes, mistress,’ said Gabriella. ‘Thereby allowing the army that gathers in Hunger Wood to march in almost unopposed.’
‘The Sylvanians will have the empire of slaves they have always wanted,’ said the child-vampire. ‘And we will be cast out. Hunted and fugitive.’
‘Why Nuln?’
‘It is sound tactics, mistress,’ said Casilla, swaggering forwards with her hand on the hilt of her sword. ‘It would have been nearly impossible to strike at Karl Franz in Altdorf, among all his defences. Also here they will be able to accuse Countess Emmanuelle of his murder, perhaps even say she is a member of our sisterhood. Reikland will be forced to come out against Wissenland, and once that war starts, the other provinces will not stand by.’
Lashmiya nodded. ‘And what have you done to foil this plot? Besides fight like cats in a bag, that is? Do you know who leads the Sylvanians? Do you know their numbers? Where they are hiding? How they plan to kill Karl Franz? When they will strike?’
Again there was hesitation among the sisters, and again Gabriella spoke.
‘We know they are not quartered in the city, though they have agents here. We have sent swains and thralls into the forests around Nuln, looking for them. None have found any trace. They are likely hidden by sorcery.’
‘And you have not wrested the information from their agents?’ asked Lashmiya.
‘Many have talked before they died,’ said Gabriella. ‘But they did not know their master’s name, nor his lair. They claim to have met him in a different place each time, and did not see his face. None were privy to the full plan, and we have yet to piece it all together from the scraps.’
‘That is because Countess Gabriella has not given us all the scraps,’ said the crone who had faced Lashmiya’s wrath before, standing unsteadily. ‘And we do not know their leader’s name because she has not seen fit to tell us.’
Lashmiya turned blazing eyes on her, as mutterings swept through the sisters, but before the emissary could lash out again, the crone curtseyed demurely.
‘Forgive me if I incur your wrath once more, mistress, but was not sister Gabriella our Queen’s agent in Sylvania? Was it not her duty to watch and guard against just such schemes as this? How can she not have known this was coming? Unless, of course, she serves a master as well as a mistress!’
‘Enough,’ said Lashmiya again, as the mutterings became shouts. ‘Enough!’
The storm of argument cut off again as she glared at them all, moon-white energy crackling around her balled fists.
‘It seems the Sylvanians have learned Lahmian subtlety,’ she said, ‘while you have forgotten it. They have used whispers to turn you against each other, and you have not seen this for what it is. This will cease. From now on, only I have the right to brand someone spy or traitor. Any sister accusing any other of disloyalty will face my wrath. Is that clear?’
Disgruntled muttering answered her, and the crone turned her back.
Lashmiya nodded almost imperceptibly to her Norse guards. The spearwomen stepped forwards as one and stabbed the crone through the back and neck. She shrieked once, then crumpled to the floor in a welter of blood, her spine severed in two places.
‘Is that clear?’
‘Yes, mistress,’ chorused the Lahmians.
‘I am pleased to hear it,’ said Lashmiya, then raised her chin and addressed them. ‘For if we are to win this war, if we are to survive as a race, we must join together and work as one. And not only that. We must learn from the Sylvanians as they have learned from us. If they can learn intrigue, then we can learn war. We must remember that we too have fangs. We must remember that we can be strong as well as cunning, brave as well as deceitful, swift as well as secret. We have been backed into a corner, dearest daughters. Now it is time to bare our claws!’
The Lahmians cheered, and Lashmiya let them, then raised her voice again. ‘I will meet with you all individually, and hear your stories and complaints. Until then, you are dismissed, but know that my eyes and the eyes of our Queen are always on you. You may go.’ She saluted them with a raised hand, then stepped down from the altar and strode for the door again, her spearwomen following behind her.
The chamber erupted in nervous babbling as she passed through them, and the Lahmians rose and began to huddle in little groups. Ulrika and Famke, who stood where they had stopped when Lashmiya’s thunderclap had announced her presence, now relaxed and started towards Mathilda, Hermione and Gabriella again.
In the first row, Hermione was whispering urgently in Gabriella’s ear, looking as frightened as Ulrika had ever seen her. Gabriella held her arm, speaking soothingly, but as she turned her towards the exit, she glanced up – and looked straight at Ulrika.
Ulrika stopped, wary, as Gabriella stared. Would the countess curse her? Would she slap her? Would she kill her?
Gabriella walked up the stairs as Hermione and Mathilda turned to look after her, then spread her arms and embraced Ulrika, pulling her close.
‘Welcome home, daughter,’ she said. ‘I am glad you still live.’
Ulrika closed her arms around Gabriella’s shoulders and returned the embrace, her breast heaving with stifled sobs. How could she have left such unquestioning love? How could she have been so selfish as to hurt Gabriella and break the vows she had made to her? It felt good to be home.
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br /> ‘You!’ said Hermione, following Gabriella up the steps. ‘I have been awaiting your return!’ She pointed a finger at Ulrika. ‘Hold her, sisters! This one I know is a traitor!’
chapter three
THE PRODIGAL’S REWARD
‘I have it from the sister whose mistress you conspired to murder in Praag,’ said Hermione. ‘You helped a Sylvanian spy enter her house and cut off her head.’
It was a short while after the assembly, and Ulrika stood at attention before Hermione, Gabriella and Mathilda in the countess’s rooms on the upper floor of the Chalice of Caronne. Two guards in the livery of the brothel flanked the door. Famke had been banished to another room.
Ulrika cursed inwardly at the accusation. So, the spiteful Mistress Galiana had decided to blacken Ulrika’s name in retaliation for refusing to remain in her service. She wasn’t surprised, but at the same time she had hoped for better treatment. After all, hadn’t she saved Galiana’s life at the end?
‘Mistress, I did not know he was a Sylvanian spy,’ she said. ‘And when I discovered it, I killed him.’
‘After he had killed Mistress Evgena,’ said Hermione. ‘And after your actions had exposed her and her sisters to the Tsarina’s agents and destroyed all their works.’
‘It was not I who exposed Mistress Evgena,’ said Ulrika, her voice taking on a defensive tone despite her attempt at composure. ‘The cultists we fought left her secret books out for the chekist to find – the same cultists that would have destroyed Praag and driven out the sisterhood had I not stopped them. I suppose Galiana made no mention of them.’
‘She mentioned that you led them to her house,’ said Gabriella. ‘She mentioned that your Sylvanian lover was one of them.’
‘He was not my lover!’ snapped Ulrika, then cut off. That was a lie – no matter that she wished it wasn’t. Stefan had been her lover, though it had only been another trick – like disguising himself as a cultist, like playing her against her sisters, like making her think he shared her view of the world.
‘Are y’sure about that, dearie?’ asked Mathilda, smirking. ‘Maybe if y’say it a little louder it’ll be true.’
Ulrika hung her head. ‘I was taken in, I admit that, and I apologise. But I avenged Mistress Evgena’s death in the end. I stopped the cult. That has to count for something.’
‘Very little,’ said Hermione. ‘The cult was likely of no consequence anyway, and the Sylvanian would not have found a chance to kill Evgena without your help. Regardless of your intentions, you did more harm than good – and I am not convinced your intentions were good.’
‘Mistress,’ said Ulrika, then looked to Gabriella for support. ‘Countess, I–’
‘And none of this takes into account what you did here,’ continued Hermione, interrupting her. ‘Running from your mistress after giving your sworn word that you would not. That alone would be grounds for your destruction.’
‘Sister,’ said Gabriella, sitting forwards. ‘I will bow to your decision on what she has done in Praag, but I would ask that you allow me to choose her punishment for what she has done to me.’
‘It wasn’t only to you,’ snapped Hermione. ‘She tried to woo my darling Famke into leaving too.’
‘Aww,’ said Mathilda. ‘How sweet.’
Gabriella sighed. ‘Please, sisters. I blame myself for all Ulrika has done. I should have left her behind when I was summoned to Nuln. She was too young to enter our society then, and she is too young now.’
Ulrika stiffened at this, but forced herself to remain silent. If Gabriella could lessen her punishment by calling her a child, so be it.
‘Her failures and mistakes are only those that all newly blooded make,’ Gabriella continued. ‘It is only that she made them in public, rather than in the privacy of our halls. If you will let me continue her education, I know she will grow to be an asset to our line.’
Hermione sat back into her chair, folding her hands together. Ulrika tensed. She could see that Hermione was looking for some way to refuse Gabriella that wouldn’t seem mere spite. Apparently their feud continued unabated.
At last Hermione smiled, her eyes glittering. ‘You are right, sister. Your protégée was and is too young, and cannot be held entirely responsible for her actions. Therefore, in these politically delicate times – when even your own loyalty is questioned – it would not be prudent to allow her to embarrass us further. So, until this war is concluded, and until you can give her the training she requires, I think it best that she be locked away where she can do no harm.’
Ulrika rocked as if she had been slapped. Locked away? At the eve of a war? Surely Gabriella would intercede.
But though the countess looked angry to be caught in her own words this way, she finally inclined her head. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Much as it pains me, I will keep her out of sight. She will not–’
‘Oh no,’ said Hermione. ‘I would not think of forcing you to imprison your own daughter. Your kind-hearted nature would suffer too much. There are cells beneath my house. I will make sure she has everything she requires – improving books, time for contemplation, blood.’
Gabriella looked up, eyes blazing. ‘Blood, is it? You have already stolen one of mine by drinking from him. You will not take my daughter in the same way. I will hold her!’
‘Let me keep her,’ said Mathilda, ‘if the two of ye can’t agree. O’course, there’ll be a fee–’
Ulrika was unable to keep silent any longer. ‘Mistresses, please!’ she cried. ‘I have travelled half the world to fight for you! When I heard that you were threatened I thought of nothing else but returning to defend you! I know I have made a mess of things. I know I am a failure at intrigues. But is it any wonder? Look at me. I am bred for war! Would you lock me away just at the moment when there is finally opportunity for me to do what I do best?’
Gabriella scowled. ‘Ulrika, please be silent. You do not help your cause with this outburst. I won’t let Hermione hold you away from me, but–’
‘Mistress!’ interrupted Ulrika. ‘The Queen’s emissary said it was time for Lahmia to bare her claws.’ She thumped her chest with her fist. ‘I am those claws! Let me fight, and I will give you victories. I will give you your enemies’ heads on pikes!’
Gabriella and Hermione looked at Ulrika in silence as she turned from one to the other, waiting for their answer.
‘Yes,’ said Hermione at last. ‘Much too young. She will stay with me.’
‘She will not,’ said Gabriella. ‘She is my responsibility. I will do what must be done.’
‘Have you heard anything I’ve said?’ Ulrika moaned. ‘Does it not make any sense to you at–?’
‘Daughter,’ said Gabriella, as cold as ice. ‘You will wait upon my pleasure in the strong room. And if you wish to be under my care rather than Lady Hermione’s, you will be on your best behaviour until I call for you. Am I clear?’
Ulrika twitched, and had to clamp her jaw against another retort. So, the imprisonment was to begin now. She bowed stiffly. ‘Yes, mistress. Very clear. Thank you.’
‘Good,’ said Gabriella, then turned to the guards at the door. ‘Hasselrig, Becker, escort my daughter to her cell, then bring the key to me.’
‘Yes Mistress,’ said the men in unison.
Ulrika squared her shoulders, turned on her heel, and strode to them, her extended claws tearing holes in the palms of her clenched hands.
Famke was waiting in the hall, and followed as the two men led Ulrika down the hall. ‘Sister, what’s happened? What did they decide?’
Ulrika curled her lip. ‘They are fighting over who will have the honour of jailing me for the duration of the war.’
Famke groaned. ‘But you are just the sort of sister we need. You have fought. You have led men.’
‘That counts as nothing against my rebellions, apparently,’ said Ulrika.
&
nbsp; She ground her teeth as the strong room neared. It couldn’t end like this. She had not raced all the way from Kislev to sit in some stone cellar and read ‘improving books’ while the war went on without her. She had come to Nuln to fight. She had come to defend her mistress. They wouldn’t take that away from her.
A cold wave of guilt washed over her as she contemplated what such defiance meant. How could she break from her mistress not an hour after returning to beg forgiveness for breaking from her before? She was only digging herself deeper. She was only proving to Gabriella and Hermione that she was the untrustworthy child they thought she was. But if she didn’t, how could she show them what she could do? How could she prove that she was an asset to the sisterhood? This was her opportunity. She must take it.
They reached the cell, and the guard to her left leaned in to put the key in the lock. Without looking around, Ulrika back-fisted the guard to her right, putting all her unnatural speed and strength into it. He dropped like an unstrung marionette, and Ulrika punched the man with the key just above the ear before he could begin to turn to see what had happened.
‘What are you doing?’ gasped Famke as the second guard slumped.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ulrika. ‘I have to prove to them they’re making a mistake.’ She looked up. ‘You – you won’t call the guards?’
Famke shook her head, her eyes wide.
‘Will you come with me?’
Famke bit her lip and shook her head again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m too afraid.’
Ulrika nodded. She wouldn’t press her. Famke was a true Lahmian, bred to the parlour, despite growing up on the street before she had been turned. The world outside the cloistered walls was no longer hers.
‘Then I must go,’ said Ulrika. She kissed Famke on the cheek and turned for the door that led to the stairwell, then turned back again immediately.
