“We can also use fire arrows,” Delvin adds while going back to the map. He traces a finger along a line of hills that have been marked with black. “Those still wouldn’t do much to the Dawn Fangs. The fire has to spread over them quickly or they’ll simply heal the damage. Maybe an inferno would help even though the damage to the plains would last for a few generations. I really don’t want it to come to that. Can those balloons work with oil instead of water?”
The blonde man grimly nods his head, understanding that they are talking about worst case scenarios. “You are thinking that we soak the vampires and make them easier to ignite. Perhaps we can still use a brigade of water balloon throwers to minimize the damage. Once the melee gets too thick, range weapons will not be of any help.”
“Too bad we do not have any corpse serpent venom,” the Ostrich Tribe leader interjects while scratching his head. Examining the map, he points at a nearby collection of rock formations and smirks. “If you agree with this plan, Sir Cunningham, then we can milk the colonies of this area. Their venom rapidly eats away at the skin and muscle, which vampires still have. Perhaps we can confuse them with a wide variety of balloons. Some will have water while others have the oil or the venom, which can cause them to hesitate. If we find enough snakes then we can tip our arrows too.”
With a loud snap of his fingers, Delvin hurries to the corner where the old maps and notes have been cast aside. He rummages through the pile to grab a hastily folded piece of parchment that is still dripping coffee that he spilt on it two hours ago. Moving the less mangled map off the table, Delvin carefully spreads out the old plan and gestures for the two men to join him. They stare at the odd markings all over the plains before remembering that they had been trying to note the locations of watering holes in the hopes of finding a place to do an ambush.
“This isn’t exactly what I was looking for, but your mention of the corpse serpent gave me an idea,” Delvin explains while searching for another piece of paper. He writes the animal’s name down and licks his dry lips, the warrior refusing to grab a drink out of fear of making another mess. “I say we forget about the fire for now unless somebody can think of a way to create controlled blasts. Though I do want some of the Grouse Tribe to hold the high ground with their flame blades. Now we do have other weapons out here. The corpse serpent venom can be used to coat arrowheads and blades. I don’t know if this can kill a Dawn Fang, but it can take a lot of people out of the fight. You also have those trained hooded lions that can use the tall grass for cover and pounce when they see an opening. I was thinking that we can find the dammah herd to use as a natural obstacle or a first strike. If we draw the Osprey Tribe into position, we can have the hooded lions to drive the dammah into our enemies.”
“Our scouts saw them nearby, so we won’t have to travel far for the battle,” the bald Path Lord states while tapping his head in thought. Avoiding a splotch of coffee, he points at another spot that is no more than a few hours east of the haven. “There are a few Terzog nearby, but they would be a danger to us as well. It doesn’t hurt to see what mood they are in since a battle might draw them to the area anyway. My knowledge of the local beasts is limited since my tribe wanders the central regions and this is more to the southwest. We can ask the Vulture and Magpie tribes if they know of any other natural weapons. This still doesn’t give us much to use against the Dawn Fangs who will cut through our forces very quickly.”
Delvin sighs and walks away from the maps to stretch his back, every vertebrae popping at the same time. He is distracted by a chorus of shouts from outside, which causes the two Path Lords to hurry out of the tent. Figuring that it is nothing more than a spat between some of the tribes, the warrior sits down and tries to think of anything that can defeat a Dawn Fang. The priests are their best weapons unless he can unlock whatever powers come with being a magical fount. Delvin is starting to fall asleep when Samara rushes into the tent and yanks him by the wrist with enough force to drag him to the flap.
“We have a problem,” the girl gasps while leading the champion into a mass of screaming tribespeople. All of them are facing the dais where the Path Lords can be seen standing on their chairs. “Mab appeared as a cloud’s shadow passed over the encampment. I think she’s hurt because there’s blood everywhere.”
“Don’t worry. I told the Path Lords that she would come back and help us.”
“Yes, but she woke up and lunged at a kid.”
“Did she hurt the kid?”
“No, but that doesn’t matter. Hurry or they’re going to kill her and I think they might be able to do it this time.”
*****
Delvin and Samara push their way through the crowd of screaming people who are waving fire-tipped spears and hurling rocks. All of the archer towers are filled with children and the ladders are being guarded by the priests. The robed men and women are ready with spells that they hope will take down a rampaging Dawn Fang, but the primal aggression in the air makes their mouths go dry. On the natural dais, the Path Lords are arguing about what to do about the hissing vampire hunkered down in the middle of their circle. A thick cloak is over Mab and the deep cowl is drawn so far forward that only her wide eyes can be seen in the darkness. The covering gives her no protection from the projectiles and blinds her to any danger that might come from the leaders who are calling for her destruction. By the time Delvin comes into view the injured woman is practically crazed from rage and hunger.
“What is wrong with everyone?” asks the warrior as he jumps onto the dais. He kneels in front of Mab and sees that she is barely holding back her bloodlust. “Calm down and let me know what I can do to help. We can talk about what happened as soon as we get you back to your old self.”
Red-tinted drool sloughs from Mab’s mouth as a fresh pain in her back rips through her body. “I need blood. Fresh, untainted blood will heal part of my injury. That’s why I almost attacked the kid because I . . . need blood now.”
“Conserve your strength and I’ll handle it,” Delvin says as a rock bounces off the woman’s shoulder. Jumping to his feet, the champion draws his sword and bangs it against the nearest chair. “Everybody be quiet and back away! She is critically injured after what I assume was an attempt to attack our enemies. They injured her and she returned for help. Please give us some space and don’t antagonize her. Mab might be on our side, but she’s still a very hungry and powerful vampire. I say that with the utmost respect, Dark Mistress.”
“Of course, but there’s nothing I can eat here.”
“How much blood do you need?”
“It depends on the quality.”
Delvin rolls up his sleeve and offers his wrist like before. “Maybe the blood of a fount can do the job. Keep in mind that I only recently found out and still have no real idea what that even means. I was told it’s like an aura sponge, but I can’t cast spells.”
Mab chuckles at the comparison before a growl rips from her throat. The tribespeople are backing away while the priests come down from the towers to circle the dais, none of them knowing what will happen if the vampire feeds. Samara stays nearby, but closes her eyes when the woman’s fangs sink into Delvin’s flesh. The Path Lords hold up their hands to stop their people from rioting out of fear of being next. A flash of white light with red veins causes the entire camp to fall into silent anticipation. Only the children in the towers have a clear view of the ripples that course through the barrier that keeps the mesa hidden. They point at the display, but it is gone before anyone bothers to look up from the feeding.
Her hunger slated, Mab releases Delvin’s arm and retracts her fangs. An uncomfortable itch runs around her ribs as her wounds heal and the new flesh threatens to catch the frayed edges of her shirt. Standing on shaky legs, she uses her claws to make the holes bigger and cringes when she has to extract a piece of cloth out of her chest. The cloak falls from her body to reveal a gaping wound in her back that is steadily knitting itself back together. Accidentally exposed to the day, the weakened
Dawn Fang’s claws immediately dissolve into black dust. With her powers restrained by the sun, Mab scrambles to recover her cloak and stops when she senses a lack of aggression in the air. She notices that the tribespeople have lowered their spears and the ones in the back are already returning to whatever they were doing before her appearance. The Path Lords leave the dais to attend to their tribes, none of them daring to meet the predatory gaze of the vampire.
“That didn’t hurt as much this time,” Delvin admits while examining his bleeding wrist. He rubs the wounds and is surprised to see the puncture holes vanish, a slight burning sensation running down to his fingertips. “Do you need time to recover before we talk? We’re still working on battle plans to combat the Dawn Fangs, but we made some progress coming up with things to handle their mortal forces.”
“That’s not the worst of the situation,” Mab says while pulling her cloak around her shoulders. She flexes her fingers and sighs with relief when her claws return. “Your old enemies have created a small army of Dawn Fangs. I’d say between eighty and one hundred while you probably expected thirty at most. A group that big will decimate these people and I won’t be as much help as I originally planned.”
“Are you going to need more blood?” asks the warrior while getting closer to the woman. When a claw taps his chin, he leans away and does his best to put on a charming smile. “Sorry about showing concern for someone who saved my life. What happened?”
“First, we’re even since you gave me enough blood to avoid devouring everyone here. That would have been embarrassing,” Mab replies, her words causing some of the nearby people to pause. She cocks her head to the side and bares her fangs, not showing any interest in dispelling their fear. “I tried to kill those brats, but there was more of them than I expected. Took a few of them out before the one with the sharp tongue shredded my heart. Now it’ll only take a decapitation to kill me for good, which is why I won’t be doing much in the battle.”
His mind racing, Delvin circles the vampire and reaches out to lift the back of her cloak. He notices the thickness and cold touch of the garment, but he is unable to identify the fabric. With a nod to himself, the warrior catches a passing guard by the arm and whispers into the woman’s ear. Both of them give a sideways glance to Mab, who snarls at the mortals and pulls the hood of her cloak further over her head.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just examine me,” the vampire whispers when Delvin returns to her side. She keeps her eyes on the guard, who ducks into a tent that is surrounded by weapons and armor. “The way to permanently kill a Dawn Fang is to behead them and destroy the heart. If you only decapitate, the head can be reattached even after centuries. That’s why one of our more common punishments is spending a few years in such a state. As for the heart, it’s what allows us to use our abilities during the day. Old world vampires would lose their powers when exposed to the sun, which is why they created these night cloaks. Dawn Fangs were seen as a threat because we didn’t have this weakness. Well, we regain the curse when our hearts are destroyed and it takes at least a year to grow a new one.”
“So our enemies will be looking for you in the battle,” Delvin replies as the guard returns with a high-collared shirt of leather. He presents the thick armor top to the vampire who tosses it on a nearby chair. “The collar will give you some protection if you want to fight. Still I think we can use that knowledge to our advantage. One of our plans is to coat our arrows with corpse serpent venom, which eats away at flesh and organs.”
Mab nods her head and removes her cloak to pull the armor over her shirt. “That will work as long as your archers are skilled and their targets aren’t armored. I don’t think the latter will be an issue since the brats are arrogant. Thanks for the armor and I’ll see if I can modify it to fit better. Probably find a way to only have the collar since the rest feels very restrictive. I might be weakened, but I’m still one of the most dangerous creatures this side of the Chaos Void.”
“Great. Then you’ll be our weapon against the enemy Dawn Fangs.”
“Sorry, but I’m not going to be the one to face those brats.”
“Are they too strong for you?” Delvin asks, freezing when Mab grabs him by the throat and lifts him off the ground. Her arm shudders from exposure and she drops him on his feet, a low rumble rolling from her throat. “That’s an honest question. I thought you could finish them off if we handle the others, but I won’t let you face them alone if they’re too dangerous. I’d like to think we’re friends at this point.”
“Please tell me I wasn’t this mushy when I was mortal,” Mab mutters while glancing at the sky. The light saps her strength, forcing her to lean forward and cover herself in shadows once more. “It would be difficult, but I could kill them even like this. The reason I won’t is because I think I owe you a favor. I saved your life once while you fed me twice when you could have let me suffer. So I’m going to make you our secret weapon against those brats. A fount can kill a young Dawn Fang and you’ll get to try your awakened powers in a real battle before facing someone like Stephen.”
“But my powers aren’t awake.”
The Dark Mistress grins and takes his arm, letting her fingers trail along his wrist. “Give me a day or two and your aura will burst from your pores. I’m very good at making my opponents act out of desperation. Just trust me, my good, juicy, tasty friend.”
Delvin gulps down the lump in his throat and lets Mab lead him away. He waves to the Ostrich Tribe leader as they walk through the encampment, gaining the Path Lord’s attention. It takes the bald man a minute to realize that the champion is being led away for the training that he had mentioned a few times during their planning session. As Delvin is unceremoniously lifted over Mab’s shoulder, his summoned shield flies over the tents and follows its owner off the edge of the mesa.
16
“I’m not training this way!”
“Then you’re not going to get stronger.”
“This is barbaric.”
“I was going to execute this guy anyway. At least now he’ll be of some use.”
“What did he do?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Delvin glares at Mab, who is calmly leaning against the conifer, her cloak covered in fallen needles. With a chain running out of his shadow, a vampiric elf struggles against his bonds and snarls at the champion. The well-dressed prisoner is too terrified to risk a glance at the Dark Mistress as he spews curses in several languages. A grin crosses his face when Delvin lowers his sword and shifts uncomfortably, the human obviously unwilling to take the easy kill. The Dawn Fang laughs for a few seconds until a clawed hand slices off his tongue and a solid kick knocks the wind from his lungs.
“Practice dummies don’t talk,” Mab snaps, gently backhanding the prisoner. She watches him gurgle and spit for a few seconds before turning back to her companion. “I forget that people like you need a reason for something like this. You view this as a waste of life, which is oddly admirable considering we’re talking about vampires. Not many mortals would think that about my people. So will you use these prisoners to practice on if I tell you their crimes?”
The champion scratches his head and struggles with the decision, the idea of being an executioner not sitting well with him. “You told me it’s a head and heart shot that’s needed. That means all I have to do is behead them and you can reattach it immediately.”
“Yes because constantly being decapitated is so much more humane than being put out of your misery,” the Dark Mistress replies with a roll of her eyes. She stomps on the chuckling prisoner’s foot, severing two of his toes. “All of these vampires have had their hearts removed, so they have no powers here. Decapitation will permanently kill them, which is not something you should be concerned with. You have very little time to practice and I’m in no condition to be a sparring partner. Remember that you will not have any issues with killing Dawn Fangs when the battle starts. Now drop the hypocritical nobility, get angry, and strik
e this worthless piece of flesh down.”
“Tell me what he did first.”
“I’m really starting to regret helping you,” Mab mutters while grabbing the elf by the pointy ear. She lifts him to his feet and runs her claw down his cheek to make him squirm. “This one was a nobleman who sought out a Dawn Fang and demanded to be changed. It happens more often than I like to admit, but that’s why I have a job. This brat drained four Duragian priestesses and had them stuffed as trophies. It put our flimsy truce with those sun kissers at risk. His partner was killed on the spot, but this one tried to beg for mercy and bribe me. Now can you please kill him and let me grab another target?”
Delvin nods and gets within striking range the sweating vampire, a look of fear on the creature’s face. Mab is already sticking her hand in a shadow to choose a fresh target when the warrior swings. There is no flash of light as the bastard sword slices cleanly through the Dawn Fang’s neck. Nothing happens as the head rolls into some bushes and the body topples backwards. Someone on the other side of the portal yanks on the chain, which drags the corpse back to wherever it came from.
“How was that?” Delvin asks with a spin of his sword. The look of disappointment on his companion’s face causes him to stand at attention. “I tried to focus on my aura, but I couldn’t tell if I was doing it right. Maybe the threat has to be real.”
Mab pulls a young halfling woman out of the distant prison and holds onto the screeching vampire’s chain. The attractive creature calms down when she sees the head of the first prisoner and the drying blood on the champion’s sword. Turning to run, she finally notices the Dark Mistress and takes a seat on the ground. She closes her eyes and enjoys the caressing wind, content that she will die in the woods instead of a dungeon.
The Mercenary Prince (Legends of Windemere Book 9) Page 34
