by Nathan Long
Halfway across the valley, Morgenthau’s force broke from the southern edge of the forest and trotted towards them across the bridge over the river. He saluted Kodrescu as his troops merged into the column, then gave Ulrika a brief sly nod. She cursed under her breath. The fool was going to give the game away. He should not have acknowledged her at all.
Fortunately, Kodrescu only seemed interested in taunting Morgenthau and didn’t notice. ‘You seem unmarked, captain,’ he said, smiling. ‘Fighting was light, then?’
‘Fighting was nonexistent, lord,’ said Morgenthau through his teeth, ‘as you well know.’
‘You shall see some action now,’ said Kodrescu. ‘The end has begun.’
‘Aye,’ said Morgenthau. ‘Sweeping up the dying leavings of your mercenaries. How glorious it will be.’
Kodrescu glared at him. ‘Have a care, captain, or I will set you to guarding the perimeter.’
Ulrika glared at him too. If the fool angered Kodrescu now, the general could indeed send him on some fool’s errand, and she would have to deal with Kodrescu, von Graal and Lady Celia alone.
‘The wards have weakened,’ said Celia. ‘They will not stop us.’
Kodrescu grinned and raised his lance high. ‘Death to the thieves of the dead! Attack!’
Ulrika and the others kicked their horses into a gallop and gained full speed just as they reached the foot of the hill. Kodrescu led them up towards the monastery with his red banner flapping from the end of his lance, the very image of a brave lord leading a shining company to storm an evil black castle. Ulrika laughed at the irony, her blood singing in anticipation of the combat to come.
At the top of the gentle slope the road entered a neatly tended Garden of Morr, and she could see the open gates of the monastery before her, flanked by one white column and one black, and crowned with carvings of skulls and ravens. Beyond them, the courtyard was a scene of red slaughter. Taken unawares, the monks and initiates had died in scores, and the flagstones were littered with butchered bodies. Now however, the survivors had rallied, and Stahleker’s false templars were fighting robed men and tunic-clad initiates all over the yard.
Kodrescu lowered his lance and kicked his horse into a breakneck gallop, and Ulrika and the others plunged after him, flashing past graves and monuments wreathed in black roses to either side. She braced for the touch of the wards as they charged over the monastery’s threshold, and was not disappointed. A pain like a hammer blow rocked her backwards, and a force like a strong wind almost dragged her from her horse. She thundered into the courtyard reeling in the saddle and gasping in agony, her vision clouded and crimson. The others were in similar straits. Von Graal clung to his saddlebow, and Morgenthau was bleeding from the nose and mouth. Only Kodrescu and Lady Celia seemed unaffected.
‘Treacherous witch!’ Morgenthau snarled at her, his clawed hands pressed to his temples. ‘You were meant to weaken the wards!’
The necromancer snorted. ‘Were they at full strength, you would be dead.’
Ulrika surveyed the courtyard through swoon-dimmed eyes. A phalanx of monks in robes and breastplates were fighting the false Black Guards on the steps of the monastery’s temple, while all around and on the walls above, false initiates fought true initiates in a myriad of confused melees. Black-armoured corpses sprawled everywhere, and Ulrika feared Stahleker was among them, but then she saw him fighting two initiates and a monk with a warhammer on the balcony of what looked like a library. He was in bad shape, his black helm lost, and the vambrace that encased his left arm crushed almost flat.
Neither Kodrescu or von Graal seemed to notice that the commander of their human forces was only seconds from death, and instead clattered up the temple steps on their chargers to rain blows down upon the warrior monks.
Ulrika snarled with anger and spurred Yasim at the library, then leapt from her saddle and climbed the skull-encrusted stonework to the balcony. Stahleker fell just as she vaulted the balustrade, knocked flat by a hammer blow to the shoulder, and she sprang at his opponents, long sword flashing, as they raised their weapons to finish him.
‘Fight me!’ she cried, smashing an initiate’s sword from his hands. ‘I am your sworn foe, not him!’
The second initiate swung an axe at her, but he was painfully slow. She ducked under it with ease and ran him through the ribs, then kicked him into the first, sending them crashing over the balustrade to the courtyard below. The monk, however, was a veteran, scarred and strong and cold of eye. He swung his hammer one-handed, and blocked Ulrika’s counterstrike with an iron bracer that he wore under his voluminous sleeve.
Still, he was only as fast as a human, and when he swung again, she slashed not at his body, but at the arm that wielded the hammer, and opened a gash in his wrist that showed bone. His grip faltered as he gasped, and in that instant he was done. Ulrika stabbed him in the guts, her blade punching through his breastplate as if it were made of tin, then caught him by the throat and hurled him to the courtyard after the initiates. He landed head-first.
At her feet, Stahleker struggled to get up. Ulrika pulled him to his feet. He was white as a ghost and weaved like a drunk.
‘Is it bad?’ Ulrika asked.
‘Can’t lift my arm,’ he slurred. ‘And that bastard monk knocked me silly, but I’ll live. Thanks to you.’
‘Forget it. Can you fight?’
He shook his head, wincing. ‘But I can lead.’
‘Can you fire a pistol?’
He grinned through bloody teeth and held up his unwounded right arm. ‘Oh, aye.’
Ulrika glanced over the balcony. The fight was nearly over. Kodrescu and von Graal had defeated the monks on the temple steps, and their troops, living and dead, were starting to spread out through the monastery, looking for survivors to slaughter.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then gather your men. Pull them off the hunt and get them mounted and ready to fight in the courtyard. Hopefully it will be over before it starts, but…’
‘But y’never know.’
‘Aye.’
Stahleker saluted and limped to the door that led into the library. ‘We’ll be ready, captain.’
Ulrika returned the salute and leapt over the balustrade to drop like a cat to the courtyard, then remounted her horse and started for the temple.
At the top of the steps, Kodrescu had the monastery’s ancient abbot on his knees before him, while von Graal, Morgenthau and Lady Celia stood by. The abbot bled from a wound in his neck that had been made by fangs. Kodrescu wiped his lips.
‘For all your life, monk, you have been a thief of the dead,’ he sneered, ‘stealing subjects that are rightfully mine. Now you will have your punishment. Hard labour, for eternity, walking until your skin sloughs from your bones as a slave in my train.’
Ulrika stopped her horse at the bottom of the steps and caught Morgenthau’s eye. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and she gave a minuscule shake of the head, then flattened her hand in a ‘wait’ motion. He nodded and clenched his jaw, uneasy.
Kodrescu lifted the abbot off his feet by the neck and looked him in the eyes. ‘You will never find Morr’s realm, monk, nor will any of your brothers.’
The old man met his gaze, unflinching. ‘I take solace that you will not either,’ he quavered. ‘Even the undead die, and when it is your turn, your fate will be worse than mine.’
Kodrescu snarled at this affront, then tore the abbot’s throat out and threw his body down the stairs to lie with the rest.
‘Raise him,’ he said, turning away, ‘and all the others. It is time to march on von Messinghof at last.’
‘Yes, lord,’ said Lady Celia.
Ulrika looked around as the beautiful necromancer started down the stairs towards the centre of the courtyard. Stahleker’s men were slipping back to their horses in ones and twos, but most were still in other parts of the monastery. Nor
had Stahleker returned. If Lady Celia began her ritual before they made their attack, it would weaken them again and make them unfit to fight.
‘General,’ said Ulrika. ‘The men are not finished hunting down all the survivors. If the spell is done now, you will leave some thieves unpunished.’
Kodrescu looked at her, then turned to Lady Celia. ‘Wait until all are dead.’
‘Yes, lord.’
Kodrescu started down the stairs as well, motioning to von Graal and Morgenthau to follow. ‘We will stay here for the day and burn their books and relics, then start back to von Messinghof at sunset. Now come to the library. We must plan our return.’
Ulrika tensed as the three lords crossed towards the library door. What was keeping Stahleker? If Kodrescu left the courtyard, the moment would be lost, and they would have to find another. But when again would he be so completely off his guard?
As if on cue, Stahleker limped around the corner of a dormitory at the head of a dozen lancers. Ulrika chewed her lip as they hurried for their horses and Morgenthau looked over his shoulder at her. Was this the best time? Stahleker wasn’t in position. Should she wait? Would it all fall apart?
It didn’t matter. It was time to try or die. She nodded to Morgenthau and mouthed the word, ‘Go,’ then looked back at Stahleker and gave him a nod too.
Morgenthau swallowed and slowed, letting Kodrescu and von Graal get ahead of him, then drew his sword. Ulrika saw him hesitate, but finally he lashed out and cut through the armour of von Graal’s forearm.
‘Traitor!’ he cried. ‘You attack our lord? Face me!’
Von Graal and Kodrescu whipped around at the same time.
‘What is this?’ asked von Graal, drawing with his wounded arm. ‘Why have you struck me?’
Morgenthau stepped back, pointing his sword at him but looking at Kodrescu. ‘He had silver, lord! He meant to stab you in the back!’
Kodrescu drew too, glaring from one to the other as Wolf’s Fang shimmered an angry red. ‘Is this true?’
‘Of course not!’ cried von Graal. ‘It’s madness. He lies!’
‘You are the liar!’ shouted Morgenthau, and lunged at him, stabbing for his heart.
Kodrescu hesitated, uncertain who to attack, and in that instant Sergeant Stahleker hit his cue perfectly.
‘To Lord von Graal!’ he cried, raising his sword. ‘Protect our master! Slay Kodrescu! Slay Morgenthau!’
As one, his lancers answered the call and spurred their horses towards the general. ‘To Lord von Graal! Slay Kodrescu!’
Kodrescu turned on von Graal, snarling, as Morgenthau fell back. ‘He lies, does he? This is a coup!’
‘No, lord! I swear it!’
Kodrescu didn’t listen. He thrust at von Graal with the red sword as Stahleker and his lancers surged their horses around the combatants and hacked down at the general, still calling von Graal’s name.
All over the courtyard, Kodrescu’s Blood Knights hurried to save their master, but Stahleker had moved first, and the lancers formed a solid wall around the general, holding them off. Unfortunately, no wall would protect von Graal from Lady Celia’s magics. Ulrika saw the necromancer beginning a spell and spurred her horse at her. The animal shouldered her to the ground and trampled her, stopping the incantation. Ulrika didn’t look back. It was time to play her part.
She drove forwards into the press, crying, ‘Fall back, traitors! You will not kill our lord!’
The lancers, who were of course in on the ruse, made way for her, and she shoved through to the open space where Kodrescu and von Graal fought. As she expected, von Graal was getting the worst of it. He was a decent fencer, and as quick as any of their kind, but Kodrescu was on another plane entirely. He gashed von Graal a dozen times in as many seconds, and the red sword glowed like hot iron as it absorbed his blood.
Ulrika drew a pistol from her saddle holster. ‘Death to the traitor!’
‘No!’ roared Kodrescu, waving her back. ‘His death is mine! Don’t shoot him!’
‘Very well,’ said Ulrika, and shot Kodrescu point-blank in the back.
The general gasped and staggered as the double-shotted silver punched through his breastplate and buried themselves between his shoulder blades. His sword drooped and he clutched at his back, hissing in pain. Ulrika was amazed at his toughness. She would have been on the floor, screaming like a baby. Nevertheless, it was enough. Presented with the opening, von Graal took it, and chopped deep into Kodrescu’s side with his sword, making a terrible wound.
Even then the general did not fall, and countered with a wild slash that knocked von Graal’s helm flying and left him with a gash over the ear.
Von Graal staggered back, ripping his sword from Kodrescu’s side. ‘Mad dupe,’ he rasped as the general fell to his knees. ‘It was not I who plotted your assassination. But as you have proven yourself a fool for believing it, perhaps you deserve it.’
He raised his sword over his head. Kodrescu tried to lift the red blade to block it, but he was shaking too hard. The veins in his neck were turning black under his skin, and his mouth was frothing blood.
Von Graal chopped down like an executioner and severed Kodrescu’s head with one clean stroke. It toppled from his shoulders and fell to the cobbles.
The red-haired knight looked at it sadly, then raised cold eyes to Ulrika as she holstered the spent pistol. ‘Well, traitor,’ he said, ‘it seems I have done your dirty work for you. Do I now get to share in the spoils?’
‘Death to the assassin!’ cried Morgenthau, bursting from the ring of lancers with his sword raised.
Von Graal spun too late, and Morgenthau’s sword cut through his vambrace and into his arm. The beautiful knight grunted and backed to the wall, trying to keep Ulrika and Morgenthau in front of him. Unfortunately, he didn’t see Stahleker on his horse beside him.
‘Touch my woman, would ye?’ snarled Stahleker, and slashed a red trench in the back of von Graal’s bare head.
Von Graal staggered forwards, crying out and covering up. Ulrika hacked down and chopped through his wrists to split his head from crown to chin. He dropped to his knees, as loose as a scarecrow, then pitched face-first to the cobbles in a welter of blood.
Morgenthau breathed a sigh of relief, but Ulrika knew the job wasn’t done. Kodrescu’s Blood Knight lieutenants were attacking Stahleker’s lancers from all sides, calling them traitors and turncoat human scum, while Lady Celia was getting to her feet where Yasim had knocked her to the ground and shaping another spell.
‘Stop!’ shouted Ulrika at the top of her lungs. ‘Stop fighting! They were only following von Graal’s orders! Listen to me! We must unite!’
‘They were following your orders, assassin!’ cried Lady Celia. ‘I saw you shoot him!’
‘I shot at von Graal! I tried to stop him!’
Celia wasn’t listening. She was glaring at Ulrika as black energy boiled between her tensed hands.
Ulrika cursed. So much for the original plan. She drew her second pistol and aimed it at Lady Celia. ‘Very well, I did shoot him. And this one holds silver too. Do you wish to die as your lord did?’
Celia froze, her gathered darkness swirling but not growing. The other melees quieted as all turned to see the outcome of this conflict.
‘Consider your play carefully, lady,’ said Ulrika, babbling as she tried to think of something that would stay Celia’s hand. ‘What comes next? Will you take up Kodrescu’s banner? You have great power. You are likely more deadly than he ever was. Will you go against Karl Franz? Or will you attack von Messinghof?’
Lady Celia bared her teeth, but remained staring, thoughts churning behind her angry eyes. Ulrika swallowed. She was on the right track.
‘What is your battle plan, lady?’ she continued. ‘Do you know von Messinghof’s strength? Do you know Karl Franz’s? Upon what ground will you meet them?
And what will you do if you lose? Where will you run if Sylvania learns of your mutiny?’
‘Enough!’ said Lady Celia. ‘You make your point! I am no leader. I never claimed to be. But do you suggest that you should lead instead? Or that treacherous worm at your side? You haven’t the troops to defeat von Messinghof either. I am dead no matter what, so I may as well have my vengeance upon the killers of my–’
‘You are not dead,’ said Ulrika, seeing the way at last. ‘As you guessed from the beginning, I am von Messinghof’s spy. I was sent to kill Kodrescu and bring the others back to the fold. Return with me in my train, and you will be welcomed with open arms, this I promise you. Von Messinghof needs you. All of you. You are vital to his plans. You will not be cast away.’
Beside her, Morgenthau sputtered. ‘Your train? We have done this so that I may lead Kodrescu’s troops back to von Messinghof. This is my army, not–’
Ulrika shot him full in the face with her second silver-loaded pistol. His head exploded in a shower of sizzling black brain matter, and his headless body sprawled to the ground, his sword clattering away from his slack hand.
‘Von Messinghof might have welcomed back a traitor,’ she said to his corpse. ‘But not a fool.’
chapter twenty-four
TRIUMPH
The whole courtyard fell utterly silent. Three vampires had died in a matter of moments, ending three lives all hundreds of years long. The shock of it seemed to have cowed them all.
Ulrika turned back to Lady Celia, who was staring at the blood spilling from the stump of Morgenthau’s neck. ‘There,’ said Ulrika, tossing aside the smoking pistol. ‘I have spent my last silver. I have nothing left to stop you if you wish to kill me.’ She folded her hands over her saddle bow. ‘So, which will it be, vengeance, or a future? My death, or your life?’
Lady Celia raised fiery eyes and stared at Ulrika for a long moment, her arms hard at her sides. ‘A vampire must always be a pragmatist,’ she said at last. ‘I will accept your offer, but know this. You slew my beloved. I will not forget, and you will not always hold the high hand.’
