Bloodsworn

by Nathan Long

  Ulrika ran to the nearest unmanned horse and vaulted into the saddle. ‘Leave the knights! Face left! Face left!’

  Just as she goaded her mount into the line beside Stahleker the Lahmians burst from the trees, and Lashmiya let loose a spell. A black cloud spread from her outthrust hand and swirled towards the lancers.

  At first, Ulrika thought it was smoke of some kind, but as it got closer she saw that it was flies! Thousands of them! They gusted ahead of the Lahmian charge upon a wind that smelled like a charnel house, and enveloped Ulrika and the lancers in a buzzing, battering swarm. All around her, the Ostermark men began choking and crying out as the flies flew into their eyes and mouths, and under their armour, gagging them and biting them.

  Ulrika twitched and cursed as sharp stabs of pain peppered her face, hands and body. Why didn’t she have magic of her own? Why couldn’t she repel the spells of others?

  ‘You’ll die for this, witch!’ cried Ulrika, spurring towards Lashmiya and raising her rapier over her head. ‘For Sylvania! For von Messinghof!’

  The lancers tried to echo her call and follow, but their charge floundered as the flies blinded them, and they could hardly defend themselves as the two sides slammed together.

  Ulrika hacked at the emissary’s heavily armoured shieldmaidens as the flies buzzed all around her. She had to get past them and stop Lashmiya’s magic. The Lahmian already had too many advantages. She had more blood-swains than Ulrika had lancers, as well as a dozen vampiresses, while she was only one. But as one of the giant Norsewomen fell to her rapier, Ulrika saw that Lashmiya’s force was in truth nearly as broken as her own. Lashmiya herself was fighting desperately to maintain the spell, while her shieldmaidens and men-at-arms were cut to ribbons, their armour torn and punctured, their flesh smeared with clotting blood. Some could barely keep their saddles. Some looked only inches from panic.

  Ulrika’s lancers, on the other hand, despite their weariness and their wounds and the distraction of the flies, were soldiers to the core. They had been on the wrong end of a battle before. They knew what defeat tasted like, and were not dismayed by it. They fought with the grim determination of dwarfs digging their way out of a collapsed mine. As Ulrika cut down another shieldmaiden and came to grips with Lashmiya, they held their line and hacked at the blood-swains like they were a rocky work face, chipping away at them in a slow, steady slaughter.

  ‘You should have brought an army,’ sneered Ulrika, slashing at the Lahmian’s haughty eyes. ‘Not a flock of fencing masters.’

  ‘It matters not that we die,’ said Lashmiya, parrying with a jewelled scimitar. ‘We have kept you from your mad purpose. Karl Franz has escaped you. Your war is over before it is begun.’

  Ulrika snarled because she had no answer to that. Though Ulrika and her men might survive the Lahmian ambush, Lashmiya had still achieved her goal of stopping the assassination the Emperor. And if the Emperor was not dead, would the count’s Sylvanian masters dare wake Mannfred von Carstein and begin their invasion?

  She aimed a blow at the dark-skinned Lahmian’s neck, but before she could strike, a sizzling lance of black energy struck Lashmiya in the back and she spasmed and jerked in the saddle as her skin wrinkled and shrank.

  The cloud of flies dropped dead instantly and Ulrika looked past the Lahmian, searching for the source of the withering bolt. There. Coming out of the trees behind the melee were von Messinghof and the tattered remains of his Blood Knights – less than half the force he had brought to Ambosstein – and beside the count, Emmanus, the nuncio, black lightning crackling around his hands as he prepared another blast.

  ‘Sylvania!’ cried von Messinghof. ‘Sylvania endures.’

  And with that, he and his Blood Knights smashed into the backs of the beleaguered Lahmians and the massacre began in earnest. Flanked, crippled and demoralised, the Lahmians’ blood-swains practically threw themselves on the Sylvanian swords. Ulrika turned back to Lashmiya to finish her off, but she was gone, vanishing into a rapidly dissipating cloud of ash that smelled of dusty cinnamon. Ulrika and Stahleker cut down her remaining shieldmaidens in short order, and the slaughter was complete. Ulrika felt no satisfaction in the deed, however. This was no victory. Sylvania had lost. It mattered not that they were the ones to walk from the field. Their cause was dead. Lashmiya and the Lahmians had killed it.

  ‘Obercaptain,’ called von Messinghof, walking his horse to Ulrika through the carnage. He had lost his right vambrace and there was a gash on his forearm through which she could see bone. ‘Karl Franz escaped?’

  Ulrika inclined her head. ‘Forgive me, lord. We tried to fight through to him, but we failed. The Lahmians intercepted us.’

  ‘And how did they know to find us?’ rasped Emmanus. ‘Who is the traitor?’

  Von Messinghof ignored him and wiped his bloody brow with his sleeve. ‘You were ambushed above as well?’

  ‘Aye, lord,’ said Ulrika. ‘Attacked from behind by the Lahmians. We tried to keep the battle contained to the wood, so the castle would not hear it, but…’ She paused, hesitating to tell tales out of school and blame Otilia. Stahleker did it for her.

  ‘But yer sweetheart broke and ran,’ he said, slumping on his horse as if he might fall from it at any second. ‘Her and Ruger’s cowards. Fled out onto the field with the Lahmians pursuing. The castle horns started blowing a second later.’

  ‘Is – is she dead?’ asked von Messinghof.

  Ulrika shook her head. ‘I was fighting and could not see.’

  ‘And the others? Lassarian?’

  Ulrika looked up towards the castle and saw a snaking line of torches descending down the road from its black silhouette.

  ‘I know not, lord,’ said Ulrika, ‘but we cannot wait to find out. The rest of the Reiksguard are coming for us. We must go.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Emmanus, looking at von Messinghof from under his hood. ‘Your game is over, lord. You have failed your master. There will be a reckoning.’

  The count glared at him. ‘No. We have not failed. There is still Arschel.’ He turned his horse. ‘To the barges. We will try again tonight.’

  Two hours later, after a brutal ride that nearly killed their wounded mounts, von Messinghof’s battered army arrived at his barges just before sunrise. While the lancers and other human troops hurried to load their horses and gear and wounded into the holds, Ulrika followed Emmanus and the count to his windowless private cabin under the aft deck of the lead barge.

  Otilia and Lassarian were already there. Otilia huddled on a couch, her clothes torn and covered in dried blood, sobbing as she fed from a slave. Lassarian slouched in a chair, glaring at her from under half-lowered eyelids. Old Blutegel was on his knees near them, cleaning blood and muddy footprints from the polished wooden floor, but he stood and bowed as von Messinghof came in.

  ‘Welcome, lord,’ he said. ‘You – you have good news?’

  Emmanus snorted.

  ‘I am not dead,’ said von Messinghof, throwing his cloak and gloves onto his bed. ‘But neither is Karl Franz.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear it, lord,’ said Blutegel. ‘But, may I ask? Is Rukke with you? Does he live?’

  Von Messinghof shrugged and looked around at the others.

  ‘He went in with the ghouls,’ said Ulrika. ‘I did not see him again.’

  Blutegel’s eye twitched. He bowed. ‘Thank you. Will my masters require blood slaves?’

  Ulrika declined, but von Messinghof nodded. ‘Bring Shiller. I need strength.’

  Blutegel bowed and exited and the five vampires were alone. Von Messinghof groaned into a chair opposite Lassarian and motioned for Ulrika to sit upon a bench across from Otilia. Emmanus remained standing.

  ‘If you mean to make another try, lord,’ he said, ‘then the traitor who betrayed us this time must be exposed.’ He looked around at them all, his red eyes all that was visible under his ho
od. ‘Only we here were present when the count told us his plans. Therefore, one of us must be the betrayer, and must die.’

  ‘It was Ulrika!’ snarled Otilia, looking up from the unconscious slave who slumped in her embrace. ‘Who else could it be? She never stopped working for the Lahmians!’

  Ulrika snorted. ‘Don’t be more of an idiot than you already are. If I was the traitor, why did they attack me too?’

  ‘How else does a Lahmian repay a favour?’ Otilia sneered.

  Ulrika wanted to protest that, but couldn’t argue the point. Turning on one’s allies was a time-honoured Lahmian tradition. The fact that they had tried to kill her did not rule out the possibility that she had spied for them.

  ‘Then perhaps it was you,’ said Lassarian, still staring at Otilia with cold eyes. ‘You certainly did more harm than anyone else. Perhaps your courage didn’t break after all. Perhaps you ran onto the field on purpose, to bring ruin upon us from both sides.’

  ‘I didn’t break!’ cried Otilia. ‘Ruger broke! And I didn’t betray us to the Lahmians. I despise them!’

  ‘That at least is true,’ said Ulrika. ‘Otilia hates the Lahmians more than any of us.’ She turned on Lassarian. ‘What about you, general? You told me you planned to fly away upon your hell-steed before the end. Was that your plan all along? To leave us all to die? Were you only making a good show when you fought the Lahmians?’

  Lassarian rolled his eyes. ‘Now who’s the idiot? Would I be here had I betrayed you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said von Messinghof. ‘To kill any survivors. To be sure the job was done.’

  Lassarian’s eyes widened. He sat up. ‘Lord, I assure you, I–’

  Hurried footsteps came from behind the door, and the latch turned. Ulrika and the others dropped their hands to their weapons instinctively, but when the door opened, it was Blutegel, sobbing, with four men following and carrying something between them.

  ‘Lord!’ he said, staggering in. ‘My son – your son. He has returned! You must save him!’

  The four men carried a blanket into the cabin and set it down. Lying upon it was Rukke, and Ulrika could not be sure he was alive. He lay still as death, scored with a dozen wounds and one hand mashed into an unrecognisable pulp. All his blond hair had been burned away, and the skin on the right side of his face was charred and flaking. His right ear was gone. His teeth and jaw were splintered by a cut that looked like it had been made with a war axe.

  Otilia flinched at the sight of him and looked away. Lassarian curled his lip. Ulrika shuddered. Von Messinghof stood and looked down at him, an unfathomable look in his eyes.

  Blutegel reached pleading hands towards him. ‘Please, lord. You can heal him. You can save him.’

  ‘For what?’ asked von Messinghof. ‘It may take years for him to recover – years of agony. His hand may never heal. His mouth…’ He shook his head.

  ‘Lord,’ mewled Blutegel. ‘You promised me when you turned him. You said you would care for him, for eternity. You would treat him as your own son.’

  ‘And I am!’ barked the count. ‘Do you think I would let any son of mine suffer the pain he is enduring? Blood of Nagash! Why did the fool attack in the first place?’ He spun on Lassarian. ‘Did you order him in?’

  ‘No, lord,’ said Lassarian. ‘We saw him go of his own accord, after Lady Otilia…’

  One of the men who had carried him in bowed. ‘Forgive me, lords. We were with him. He saw the lady’s charge and thought the signal had been given.’

  Von Messinghof groaned and ran his fingers through his blood-crusted hair. ‘This is my fault,’ he said. ‘All this stems from putting lovers and sons into positions that should have been held by professionals. I am a fool!’

  Otilia’s head shot up at this, her eyes flashing. ‘Do you speak of me, lord? Have I disappointed you?’

  The count rounded on her. ‘Can you think otherwise? If not for you, the game might have been saved! Had you not broken, we might have defeated the Lahmians without the Imperials the wiser. We might still have been able to make our play. But–’

  ‘I did not break, lord! Ruger broke!’

  ‘Then you failed to inspire him! You failed to lead!’ He turned and threw out a hand towards Ulrika. ‘Look at what your sister did this night. Attacked from the rear by our enemies, she held her troops firm while you broke. Attacked again from the rear by new enemies who you alerted, she had the presence of mind to pull them out of harm’s way and bring them to my aid. She led her troops through fire, down a precipice, and against the deadliest knights of the Empire, and they followed her like they were her shadow. That is leadership! That is what wins battles! Gods! In spite of your exposing us all through your cowardice, she still came within an inch of taking the head of the Emperor!’

  Otilia trembled with rage and turned her burning eyes on Ulrika. ‘And what if it was all a ruse?’ she asked. ‘What if it was she who told the Lahmians where we were, and what we planned?’

  Von Messinghof laughed. ‘You will say anything, won’t you? Why would Ulrika risk her life attacking Karl Franz if it was a ruse?’

  ‘To drive him to Nuln and out of your reach, perhaps?’ said Otilia. ‘What better way for the Lahmians to protect him from you, than to scare him with a close call?’

  Von Messinghof opened his mouth to deride her again, then closed it and looked at Ulrika, his eyes suddenly questioning. Ulrika stiffened.

  ‘Lord,’ she said, ‘you can’t think this. It was Otilia who precipitated things. It was she who broke.’

  ‘It was Ruger who broke,’ countered Otilia. ‘The same Ruger who she has bled. Perhaps he was doing her bidding, alerting the Imperials to bring about our doom.’

  Ulrika stared. ‘I fed from Ruger weeks ago! He–’

  ‘And Lassarian saw her speak to her old mistress, Countess Gabriella,’ continued Otilia. ‘In the middle of the battle.’

  Von Messinghof turned to Lassarian. ‘Is this true?’

  Lassarian inclined his head. ‘Indeed, lord. I saw it with my own eyes.’

  Von Messinghof looked at Ulrika, his gaze boring into her. Ulrika swallowed, her head spinning. How had this happened? A second ago, he had been singing her praises. Now he thought she was the betrayer. She shot a glance at Otilia. The erstwhile housekeeper may have changed sides, but she was still a true Lahmian – more so than Ulrika had ever been. She knew how to twist words to make facts dance.

  ‘Boyarina?’ asked the count, expectant. ‘You had words with Countess Gabriella?’

  ‘She – she asked me to come back to her,’ said Ulrika. ‘I told her to go to hell and raced to save you. There was nothing more.’

  ‘And can anyone verify this? Did anyone else hear you speak?’

  Ulrika thought back. She had been yards away from the lancers, fighting among Lassarian’s mounted wights, and they could neither hear nor speak. ‘No one,’ she said. ‘I was alone.’

  Von Messinghof’s hand dropped unconsciously to the hilt of his sword. He pursed his lips. ‘Boyarina, I don’t want to believe this of you, but–’

  ‘Lord, please, think!’ said Ulrika, standing and spreading her hands. ‘Even if I had wanted to, when would I have had the opportunity to warn the Lahmians. I didn’t even know where we were going until the night of the attack! And once you had told us, I was busy readying my men, in sight of everyone. How could I have got a message to them? I would have had to have sent it just as we were riding out to…’

  She trailed off as a memory came to her. Someone had sent a message just as they were riding out. Someone had sent two messages.

  ‘The same can be said of everyone who was in my tent,’ said von Messinghof, waving her words away. ‘All were in sight of everyone, and yet someone did send a message. They must have, else the Lahmians would not have known where to ambush us.’

  ‘Aye!’ said Ulrika.
Her skin prickled with excitement as she turned to Blutegel. ‘Steward, why did you loose two bats just as we were getting under way?’

  The old servant blinked. ‘Why, I – I sent a message to the barges, to tell them where to meet us after the battle.’

  ‘What is this?’ asked von Messinghof. ‘Why are you questioning Blutegel?’

  Ulrika kept her eyes on Blutegel. ‘That took two bats? Why? Why did you need two bats to send one message?’

  The old man opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. ‘I–’ he said at last. ‘I can explain. I–’

  Nothing else came out. Instead he began to shake.

  Von Messinghof stepped to him, staring. ‘Blutegel?’

  The steward covered his face with his hands and sank to his knees. ‘I am sorry, lord. I am sorry.’

  Von Messinghof’s eyes flared. He grabbed Blutegel by the front of his robe and lifted him off the ground with one hand, then looked him in the eyes.

  ‘Why?’

  chapter twenty-nine

  HERALD OF THE QUEEN

  ‘You – you broke your promise!’ bawled Blutegel. ‘You said you would treat him as your own blood!’ He shoved ineffectually at von Messinghof’s hand. ‘You made him your kennel keeper!’

  Von Messinghof stared, eyes blazing. ‘You betrayed me for that? You scuttled the birth of the Sylvanian Empire because I gave your son the position he deserved? Fool! A man does not become an aristocrat of the night in the span of a human life! I had all of eternity to raise him! Did you expect to see him made my favourite before your death?’