The Mercenary Prince (Legends of Windemere Book 9)

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “Nothing complicated,” the warrior claims as he puts out the fire. Wiping his mug clean, he pours himself half a cup of coffee and finishes it in one gulp. “I’m going to concentrate on counterattacks and aim for beheadings. That’s the best way to incapacitate them and it will buy me some time if I kick the head away as it falls. Same goes for hacking off limbs. Anything that can weaken them even for a second will be an advantage.”

  “Guess that’s all you can do.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I’m not, but you already know why.”

  “I’m sorry that my powers didn’t awaken.”

  The vampire grips Delvin by the wrist and takes a deep breath, her weakened state requiring that she concentrate entirely on carrying him safely through the abyss. Unlike the previous trips, the warrior is able to remain conscious and watches the shadowy world churn around them. Their movements are more similar to bounding than running, the phantasmal earth rippling with every step. Delvin becomes aware of things watching him from the darkest part of the shadows, but he never sees anything more than flitting figures of red. As they begin climbing, portals open around them and show the various planes of Windemere. The warrior is unnerved by the tendrils of elemental energy that seeps from the openings while Mab struggles to ignore the cacophony of voices that come from the spirits.

  “They can be very pushy if I’m not at my best,” she announces to Delvin before a pulse of rage seals the portals. A low growl rolls from every direction and hundreds of crimson eyes appear within the shadows. “Some demons from the Chaos Void got in here once. They’re harmless as long as you don’t linger. Though I prefer to gouge out their eyes every few years to remind them to behave. Get ready for the landing, which will probably make you sick since you’re aware this time.”

  Clenching his eyes, Delvin feels the world flip and twist as he is squeezed through a tight doorway. His feet hit solid ground while he thinks he is upside down and his stomach lurches when he tries to move. Vertigo strikes and he collapses, which feels like he is falling off the planet. The sound of rushing footsteps causes him to open his eyes, but the landscape is a swirl of vivid colors and motion. Before he can try to stand, a rough hand shoves his head into a bucket and he vomits into the container.

  “The training took a lot out of him and he’s still getting used to his new abilities,” Mab says as the Path Lords cautiously gather. Samara is standing behind them in leather armor and she meekly pushes through with a rag for the warrior. “He’ll be ready for the battle, but he needs to conserve his energy for the Dawn Fang leaders. Control is still an issue, so he needs to save it for the right moment. I’ll stay with the main force to handle as many of my kind as I can. Are you ready to march?”

  “The dammah herd is in position and we have sent a small party to act as refugees. They will lead our enemies into our trap,” the Ostrich Tribe leader announces, unsure if he should speak to Mab or Delvin. He gestures to the warriors, who are climbing down the mesa and dividing into their various squads. “There was a good harvest of corpse serpent venom, so our archers and slingers will be our greatest strength. They will start their attacks once the dammah have done their job, but we were hoping Delvin could give us more specific orders.”

  The warrior groans and staggers to his feet, accepting the rag and some fresh water from Samara. “If you destroy the heart then the Dawn Fangs will lose their powers. That will make it easier to chop their head off, so have the archers aim for the chest. The venom should be able to eat away at the heart if it pierces the breastbone. Any other targets will be up to the individual because you never know what’ll happen out there. Give me a few minutes to recover and get some food. You can start the march as soon as you’re ready and I’ll catch up.”

  “The Path Lords will be in the middle of the formation until we get within a few miles of the battlefield. Our plan is to hide in the grass and among some rocks while we wait for the chaos of the dammah stampede to set in,” the bald man says as he adjusts the small sword that is at his hip. His fellow leaders disperse to gather their weapons and join their tribes, all of them keeping an eye on Mab. “The battle will start quickly and I hope to see you at the end. If I don’t then I wish to thank you for leading us, Sir Cunningham. You have brought all of us together and given us a chance to retake our lands. May your sword find its mark and never dull.”

  “May the wind caress your cheek for many years,” Delvin replies, giving a low bow to the elder. As the other man leaves, the warrior staggers away with Samara and Mab a few steps behind him. “Can you get me something to eat, Samara? I really need something to eat since I’ve been living off trail rations and wild roots for the last day.”

  “There’s a stew that one of the Vulture women just finished,” the girl mentions before hurrying away. She nearly trips over the sword on her hip, the weapon too big for her to easily wield.

  Delvin scans the area to make sure they are alone before leaning in close to the vampire who bares her fangs. “Thanks for telling them my powers woke up. I know you don’t really care about our fate and only want your targets to die. So I really appreciate what you’ve done for me and these people so far.”

  “So far implies that you have a request.”

  “It’s just a favor if I don’t make it out of this battle.”

  “I won’t kill Stephen, but I’ll get your friend away from him.”

  “How did you know I would ask that?”

  Mab grins and pats the champion on the cheek as Samara arrives with his meal. “You’re rather predictable, which you might want to work on. Now eat up and let me have a snack because we have an army of brats to kill.”

  Followed by the confused girl, the pair enter an empty tent to dine in silence. All around them are the sounds of swords being sharpened and warriors heading for the walkways. People are saying good-bye to their loved ones and children are crying as one or both of their parents join the other tribespeople. It is an atmosphere thick with determination and despair, which reminds Delvin of why he hates the build up to a battle. All he can do to calm his nerves is whistle his favorite tune and try to push every speck of fear out of his thoughts. By the time he is done eating and Mab has had some of his blood, the Mercenary Prince is clear of mind and ready for another fight that he is sure will haunt his dreams.

  17

  The Osprey Tribe marches across the plains in search of the elusive refugees that they repeatedly see on the horizon. At the front of the warriors, a tall vampire walks with a long pole that has a blood-dripping body hanging from the top. The horrifying flag has been switched for a fresh corpse after every encounter with the retreating tribespeople, which has become a less common occurrence over the last day. A few early skirmishes have caused the modest-sized army to be cautious even though they only lost ten mortal warriors. The Dawn Fangs are spread out among their slaves, making it impossible to tell them apart from those they are using as living shields. To make it even harder for their enemies, the tribe members who are unable to fight have been given broken weapons and put around the outside of the real army. From far away, these people look like the other warriors even though they are crying and shiver as they walk. Several of them had been killed by the refugees during the first encounter, but they have remained untouched by enemy attacks since then. Now they are nothing more than decoys and emergency meals for the Dawn Fangs, who are starting to wonder if the surviving tribes have left Yagervan entirely.

  The Path Lords remain in the back of the army, Elrin even further behind due to a heavy crate that he has been carrying for the last fifty miles. They vaguely remember stories from their childhood that spoke of a haven if the plains were ever under attack. Nothing more than bedtime tales when they were younger, but now the vampires wonder how many of them were true. It would explain why all of the other tribes simply vanished several weeks ago, leaving only a few bazaars and foreigner groups to be attacked. Due to the unexpected exodus, food for the vampires has b
een increasingly more difficult to find. The rabble of the Osprey Tribe have no idea that the real reason behind the sudden march is that the Dawn Fangs are becoming hungrier by the day and the blood of animals is no longer enough for them. Yeldar is aware that many of his children want to devour or change the mortals that follow them, but he knows that an army made completely of vampires would be impossible to feed. It would force him to attack Serab and the barbarian lands long before he is ready, which would inevitably ruin all of the hard work he has put into his conquest.

  “Something is up ahead,” Riak whispers into his leader’s ear. The towering vampire glances around to see if any of the others are close enough to hear him. “Do you think it is time the four of us leave for our special council? It’s been nearly a day since we had such a discussion. Elrin, Teka, and I would really appreciate such a meeting.”

  “Control your hunger until after we deal with whatever it is the scouts have found,” Yeldar replies, his own rumbling stomach making him wince. “If another fight breaks out, we’ll leave it for the others. Maybe some unrestrained rampaging will do them some good and they can get the food they want. During the chaos, we can have that meeting and join in near the end with our full strength. Though, I would prefer to reserve ourselves for the real battle. The Dark Mistress and Cunningham are still out there and we know they’re planning something.”

  The white-haired Dawn Fang pauses, when a redheaded halfling vampire runs over to the Path Lords and kneels to place her head on his boots. “Do we continue through the herd? The dammah appear to be docile, but the way they are spread out requires that we break our formation. Some of your lieutenants want to butcher them and risk a stampede.”

  “They’re nothing more than beasts. Break formation to move ahead and tell my lieutenants that I’ll kill one of them later for stupidity,” the grinning Dawn Fang states, his eyes noticing the glinting silver of the animals’ horns. He scans the area for signs of an ambush, but the only other thing he sees is a large pride of hooded lions that are cowering on top of a rock formation. “It appears some of the beasts are getting used to our presence. That means we’ll bring less attention to ourselves when we come near the other tribes. Tell all of our kind to keep their bloodlust under control to avoid spooking the herd. My friends and I will stay here to discuss our next course of action. I promise we will only be a few minutes.”

  Walking away from the rest of the army, the Path Lords move behind a narrow hill that protects them from spying eyes. Teka hands out bottles of preserved human blood that she has kept hidden beneath a long jacket, which she drops to the ground. The four vampires greedily devour the meal and feel their fatigue fade away, each one sighing at the warmth rolling in their guts. A blissful haze washes over their senses, their eyes closing to enjoy the sensation. It is several minutes before they notice that there is a chorus of screams and clashing weapons behind them. Yeldar leans backwards to see what is going on, but has to quickly duck away when a dammah nearly impales his head, the terrified beast rushing into the distance. More of the herd charges around the hill, cutting the Path Lords off from their army.

  “Take a look through the hill, Riak,” Yeldar orders, attempting to look again. A silver horn catches him in the eye and he yanks the beast to the ground where he snaps its neck. “What in all of Windemere is going on out there? Did somebody panic the herd?”

  Riak merges with the hill and has his face appear on the other side, the vampire shocked by the chaos surrounding before him. The hooded lions pounce on anyone with a drawn weapon while the dammah stampede through their divided forces. It takes him a minute to realize that some of the armed men and women are not members of the Osprey Tribe. The fighting is on the opposite side of the battlefield and arrows are flying off the rock formation. A few of the projectiles hit Dawn Fangs whose abilities abruptly disappear, forcing them to fight with weapons from the fallen. They are still a threat to the mortals, but the crushing numbers of their opponents make it a much more difficult battle. By the time, Riak stops watching, five of the other vampires have been decapitated and left to rot.

  “The tribes are using the wildlife to their advantage,” he reports before his leader grabs him by the throat. A screech can be heard before the crackling of lightning is met by the roars of the lions. “It seems a Terzog has joined, but it might not be on their side. Then again, I doubt it is going to help us.”

  “Our enemies must have been waiting in the grass and rocks,” Yeldar growls, letting go of his friend and nearly ripping his white hair out. His tongue lances out of his mouth and toward the top of the hill where a hooded lion is crouched for an attack. The predator’s body tumbles off to the side and is trampled by the panicked herd. “I heard some of our men talk about the Grouse Tribe having trained hooded lions, but the dammah were always connected to the Osprey Tribe. I wonder how they stopped them from stampeding once they caught our scent. Those things are terrified of undead. Unless there was something worse than us keeping them nervous because they didn’t know where to run.” The Dawn Fang growls and creates a pack of wights to send into the chaos. “Mab must be out there somewhere. I always wondered if the elders could retain their powers in sunlight. She could have constantly appeared in every direction using the shadows. If it is her then she’s waiting for us to reveal ourselves. There are too many places for her to attack from out there, so we’re pinned.”

  “Did you see any of our people fall, Riak? What about the hostages?” Teka asks while stepping around the hill. She shrieks to clear a path through the dammah, but the hole is quickly filled in and she is forced back behind into cover. “It’s like they knew we were over here. Those damn antelope have us cut off from our own army. The Dark Mistress is good, but she couldn’t have planned it this perfectly. Maybe she’s using the tribes as expendable distractions to draw us out. The other Dawn Fangs can’t be having that much trouble with the mortals and beasts.”

  “Some of their arrows appear to have the power to destroy our hearts,” Riak replies, drawing two longbows that he has mastered firing at the same time. Kicking a dent in the hill, he smacks Elrin on the back to get the metal vampire to start digging. “Make me archer slits to fire from and I will do my best to identify and eliminate the enemy leaders. I can’t tell if the hostages are out there or if they escaped, Teka. If this chaos continues for much longer then my intimidation and Elrin’s charm will break, which will cost us our army. We might have to retreat and have an invisible vampire track the tribes back to their hideout.”

  Yeldar is about to agree to a retreat when he sniffs the air and catches a scent that makes his blood boil. “Stop digging, Elrin, because our real enemy is coming closer. This battle is no longer about conquering the plains and our enemies aren’t following Mab. I’m willing to bet this was put together by the infamous Mercenary Prince, who is refusing to go away. Delvin ruined our lives again, so I’m not leaving without his heart in my hand. You three can choose your own trophies from his corpse. The four of us will kill him and then I’ll call the retreat. If we’re lucky, the Dark Mistress will show up and we can remove our two biggest threats. She’s too weak to challenge us and keep her new pet alive. I have to think about the future and a second attack will be easier without them involved. Put on your heart plates in case they try to stab us in the chest or one of their magic archers tries to interrupt us.”

  The four vampires remove their shirts as Riak hands out iron chest protectors, the leather straps wrapping around their shoulders. Elrin stares at his metal body and silently questions if he needs one, which is answered by Teka giving him a kiss on the nose. She takes his heart plate away and puts it on her back for added protection. Armored and ready for battle, the Path Lords patiently wait as their prey unknowingly gets closer. The only sound behind the hill is the shaking of whatever creature is stirring within the Path Lords’ metal box.

  *****

  Amid the screams and falling bodies, Samara finds herself standing with three other swordsmen
who are struggling against a muscular Dawn Fang. With an arrow embedded in his chest, the vampire is barely able to keep the mortals at bay. The creature has enough strength to wield his giant hammer, but his movements are sluggish and ungainly. It is only the inexperience of the tribespeople that allows their enemy to maintain the advantage. When one of them gets too close, the vampire jabs the man in the stomach and swiftly leans forward to tear out the swordsman’s throat with his teeth. Samara backs away as the other warriors charge, one of them running into a blow that shatters his head. Alone and scared, the final swordsman is easily killed and turned into a quick snack for the vampire.

  “You look tasty,” the towering figure hisses when he advances on Samara. The girl’s quivering body brings a smile to his face as he playfully knocks her weapon back and forth with his bare hand. “No idea what your friends did to me, but it’s nothing some young blood won’t cure. That warrior was too old and bitter. Now stand still and it won’t hurt a bit.”

  At the sight of the vampire’s fangs, Samara shrieks and swings her sword as hard as she can. The blade catches her enemy’s lower jaw, which is severed enough that it dangles from a few remaining tendons. Stunned by the injury, the Dawn Fang tears off the piece and examines it in disbelief. The girl charges with her sword held over her head, but she is sent flying when the hammer is blindly slammed into her side. Lungs punctured by broken ribs, Samara coughs up blood and does her best to roll away from the creature.