“It does, yes.” Dulcea nodded. “Thank you for touring me around. I never caught a good look before. The maids were always in such a hurry to get me from place to place.”
The castle walls were unique black stone everywhere, but in most rooms the rich, decorative wooden paneling of the lower walls gave them a sense of warmth, comfort, and coziness. Paintings depicting grand battle scenes, gorgeous landscapes, and glamorous portraits of kings and nobility cluttered the walls of many of the rooms he had shown her. There had also been several tall, life-size portraits decorating the walls above the high terrace surrounding the great entrance hall.
He held out a chair for her. “Come, let us get you the fare I promised.”
Dinner with a vampire at an hour to midnight, in a room lit by a sea of enchanted white candles, was one of the more unexpected events in her life. The food was delicious, though: the fish cooked to perfection and the vegetables crisp yet tender. The spring water was clean and cool, the wine fruity and sweet, and the dessert of strawberries and fresh cream the best thing she had eaten in many years. He was in every way a perfect host and she a guest, and yet there was an element of danger to it.
Krath watched her with keen eyes—more like a man might a woman than a vampire would his prey. The mere thought of it was enough to flush her cheeks and make her drop her gaze.
“Tell me…” Krath said, running his fingers across the tabletop. “Do you know who I am?”
“E-excuse me…?” Dulcea put her spoon down and looked at him with wide eyes.
He snorted. “You do not, of course. How could you even, afraid to ask the right question as you are!”
“What is the right question?” She raised an eyebrow at him.
“That is the crux of it, isn’t it?” Krath grinned. “It may have to do with death.”
Her stomach twisted, and her heart beat faster. Here was her chance at last. “How did you die?”
“No.” He shook his head. “The manner of it is the least important part of it.”
“… Why did you die?” Dulcea corrected her earlier inquiry, realizing what he meant.
He nodded. “Good. Now we are at the heart of it. I have no sire, not in the manner you think. No vampire ever attacked me, and I drank no one’s blood to gain this form.”
“I- I do not understand.” Dulcea frowned. “If it was no vampire that killed you…”
“Think of what I said of my sire. She is an otherworldly being.”
She pursed her lips. “Otherworldly… You mean, the Netherworld?”
“Yes. And who is the mistress of that realm?”
“The Goddess Sarosha,” Dulcea said at once, her expression stupefied. “You mean…?”
Krath gave a short, disdainful laugh. “Yes. The Lady of the Dead. I had the unfortunate honor of having my life ended by no other than the Goddess of Death herself.” He sneered. “My uncle Vingmar was a devout follower. We were members of Lady Sarosha’s congregation, but it was not a willing sacrifice. The goddess had use for me in this form. The way she saw it, a man once dead already can die no more. Death would not keep me from fulfilling my purpose.”
Dulcea blinked. “Y-you are… different from other vampires? You cannot die? At all? Ever?”
Krath snorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“I suppose I should be grateful it is this form she chose and not a rotting zombie…”
It was not the story she had expected, and yet it somehow made perfect sense. He was powerful beyond measure. Everything he had told her implied he was indestructible. Her questions to him had revealed no weaknesses. Now, she knew why.
“She has you bound to this world then?” Dulcea swallowed. “For all eternity?”
“I could not fulfill my given duty and have ceased to even try. This did not please Lady Sarosha,” Krath said. “She is a vindictive mistress. No one knows it better than I. So, I have renounced her. I refused to do her bidding any longer, and because of this she has forbidden my entry into the Eternal Gardens. I may visit the Netherworld because I am dead, but I cannot die, and I cannot move on. There is nothing for me after this. I can only exist.”
Dulcea gulped, not knowing what to say.
“I would not see you fail your rebellion, but I can see no way out of it for you. The peace you want is nothing but an illusion. Your accomplishments will mean nothing; this war can only result in your death. The good that you set out to do will destroy both you and your followers.”
Burning coldness squeezed her heart. Cold sweat pearled on her brow. Krath’s words were reminiscent of the traitor Delbin’s words to her.
She scowled. “That is awfully presumptuous of you. Why do you suppose we would fail?”
“Do you know who rules the Saruseans?” Krath asked, his gaze intense as it lingered on her.
It all became clear. He knew about S’Aruse’s monstrous king…
Dulcea raised her chin. “Yes. They call him Grom, the Demon King of S’Aruse. The rumors say he is powerful beyond measure. The Saruseans will not talk about him. I would wish it otherwise, but everything I know tells me he is real.”
“He is.” Krath’s smile was sarcastic. “He was once a mortal, a mere human. Grom was a high priest—a dedicated servant of Asherac who became more powerful than anyone else. He seized the throne of his homeland and became Endeia’s king. Its tyrant ruler. He waged bloody wars of conquest in S’Aruse and laughed at death. Time could not touch him. No man alive could kill him.”
“How is it you know so much about him?” Dulcea crossed her arms.
“Because, my lady…” The vampire took an unnecessary breath. “I died to battle him.”
Chapter 22
Two of a Kind
Dulcea stared at Krath. She blinked, her mouth parting in shock. Here was this man—this powerful undead creature—claiming Grom was the reason for his untimely death. The Lady of the Dead had needed a servant to do what she could not: to kill the man-turned-demon. It was absurd… and yet, Krath’s serious expression told her he did not lie. It would have been uncharacteristic. He was an enigma, but the one thing she knew for certain was his truthfulness. He might omit a few things, but he never lied.
None of it made any sense, though. How might a man kill a demon where a goddess could not?
“I comprehend what you are saying, but it is insane.”
His expression did not change. “I know. Whatever you are thinking, I have considered it, too.”
She gulped. “Is Grom… immortal?”
“No. At least, I do not think so,” he said. “Just immune to dying of natural causes.”
“See. That is what I do not understand.” She frowned. “How are you to kill what a goddess cannot?”
“I think you are overestimating the gods’ direct influence on this world. How do you imagine it works, this killing business? You reckon the Lady of the Dead steps into this realm, takes a sword, and runs the demon king through with it? What a ludicrous thought.” The left corner of his mouth curved upward in a smile. “The gods have no physical bodies in this world. They may only act through intermediaries or by possessing willing instruments. They may give counsel and speak with their chosen, but they cannot affect this world on their own, without possessing a body.”
“Yes, I know that. What I do not understand is how he survived his mortal life.” She thrummed her fingers on the table. “I mean, Lady Sarosha holds all of our lives in her hands, doesn’t she?”
He shrugged. “She is the keeper of time, but who keeps time for lost souls? Grom’s existence shows there is no predetermination. How and when Lady Sarosha removes us is up to chance. Some say it is by flicking your player piece off an imaginary board or by cutting your life thread. Others claim it is by moving the hands of time on your clock past the last hour. Now imagine Grom is a clock whose hands won’t move, a string that won’t sever, or a player piece that will not fall off the board. What can she do?”
“En
gage a mortal agent,” Dulcea said straight away, realizing he was right.
“Yes. The problem only is that no mortal is match enough for Grom.”
“You mean… you are not the first to try it?”
The vampire snorted. “No. I am but the last of Lady Sarosha’s victims in this plot. I know at least of a few others. The first chronicled incident concerns a high priest of Sarosha, a Mist Elf of Falnor from the Southern Sarusean Archipelago, whom she expected to destroy Grom.”
“A Mist Elf?” Dulcea raised her brows. “Does this have anything to do with the Mist Elves’ mass exodus to Caeryn? Back in the late fifty-fifth century? Lady Pendralyssa would not tell me much about it, only that it somehow concerned Grom.”
Krath nodded. “This is the reason, yes.”
“What of the other attempts on Grom’s life before your time?”
“One of them was by a forefather of my mother and Uncle Vingmar.” He tapped a finger to his cheek. “He was their great-grandfather. It is perhaps the reason that Lady Sarosha came to turn her attention back on his family tree, and… there I was.”
Dulcea sighed. “Seems like an irony of fate. One family twice chosen by the goddess.”
“It would, would it not?” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “The last known attempt by a mortal occurred some twenty-five years before I was born. Of my mother, I mean. This was by a powerful Dark Mage, from Loria’s now destroyed Academy of Elemental Darkness. His death was brutal, and it at last made Lady Sarosha realize there was no living creature on this earth who could defeat him.”
“All right…” She rubbed her forehead. “So, Grom is an ancient high priest of Asherac who gained too much power, and whom Lady Death wants removed. Either as a punishment for his blasphemous long life, or because he upsets this world’s balance. To this task she used several mortal instruments, all of who failed in their endeavors. To compensate Grom’s incredible strength, she decided on an agent who would not die, no matter what.”
“From a certain point of view, it makes sense, no matter how distasteful it is to me,” Krath said.
“But why did it—” Dulcea bit her lip, arranging her words anew. “The Lady of the Dead could have chosen any form for you. Why did she…? I mean, why a vampire?”
“Drinking blood is the least destructive option. Think about it.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “The undead require regular sustenance, otherwise the hungry spirit that animates the flesh will return to the Netherworld. No one can live on air and sunlight alone. My nourishment could come from devouring flesh, feasting on human hearts, gorging on intestines, or sucking out souls,” he said. “By comparison, drinking blood seems almost civil, does it not?”
Dulcea wrinkled her nose, disturbed by the nonchalant tone of his speech.
She grimaced. “I suppose, when you put it like that.”
“Blood replenishes itself. Not all of my victims need to die.” Krath stroked his chin. “Sometimes, it is more profitable to make lasting arrangements.”
“What… do you mean? What lasting arrangements?” Dulcea narrowed her eyes.
“Before I took possession of Gwyndoorn, I was a vagrant,” the vampire said. “Grom had destroyed my former home and was looking for me all across the continent. He sent out his spies to find me. A trail of bodies, no matter how well explained, would have aroused their interest. I could not take that chance and therefore integrated myself into a few rural communities over the years, feeding within a restricted circle.”
She crossed her arms. “Integrated how?”
He shrugged. “I found, courted, and married some impressionable young landowners’ daughters with a house full of relatives. Instead of settling in a house of our own, we went to live at her parents’ estate. I then took control of the household and fed from all eligible family members by putting them on blood rotation.”
Dulcea gazed at him in disbelief, her expression frozen to shock.
“Y-you’ve… taken wives?” Her breath hitched. “And you used them like that, as living pools of blood?”
“Yes. What of it? They were nothing to me, a mere means to an end.” His tone was cold, indifferent.
Dulcea felt revolted by the callousness of his statement. It was bad enough how little he cared about the people he killed, but somehow this was much worse and put his whole character into question for her. It was not so much what he had done, however; survival was instinctive. She could forgive him for that, but the manner of it repulsed her. It showed how little empathy he held for mortals, how superior he thought himself to them. He had not an ounce of remorse for the lives he destroyed.
“To me that shows a horrible lack of appreciation for one’s self-governing rights and quality of life.” Her voice dripped acid. “I should hesitate to call myself noble after that…”
The vampire fixed his pale turquoise gaze at her, his eyes serious but not unkind. It felt to her like he was assessing the worth of her words. She could tell the vehemence of her distaste surprised him.
“You judge me without understanding.” Krath sounded calm and not offended in the slightest. “The alternative would have been to thin the population the continent all over, drawing Grom’s attention to my location. He is a snail compared: where he arrived, I would no longer be. It would have always been the locals who suffered his wrath. A handful of people kept as blood thralls or tens of thousands of people dead—those were my choices. I suppose you would have chosen the latter just because it would have been more moral to do so, regardless of the consequences of such a choice.”
Dulcea bristled but said nothing, refusing to acknowledge any truth in his explanation.
“What would you have done, my lady, if placed in the same situation?”
“… Stayed to protect those weaker than me.” She raised her chin.
“I think you either overestimate my ability to stop him or underestimate Grom’s willingness to show mercy,” Krath said. “Grom does not dislike killing. In fact, he thrives on it. The more reason he finds to destroy, so much more it pleases him. He has only a few spies in Caeryn these days, but I still try to feed only four or five times every fortnight. Back then he had eyes everywhere. Had I stayed, it would not have deterred him from killing anybody.”
His gaze was patronizing, and he looked at her like she was a child needing correction.
“The thing is, I have had plenty of time to study him after my death. Grom has not changed. I know how this war of yours will end. If you defeat Warlord Turendar, one of two things will happen. Either Grom will send a new general in his place, thus prolonging your people’s suffering, or he will come himself. It might be tomorrow or a year from now, but he will come, and when he does, so too will the red dragons.”
Dulcea swallowed. “Yes, I know this…”
“All of your victories will mean nothing. Your last battle will be not only difficult but impossible. It is not within the realm of possibility for you to triumph over him. Upon his arrival to Caeryn, the demon king will seek you out and kill you. You will not stand a chance against him.”
Her gaze did not waver from his. “It is a risk I am prepared to take. I do not wish to die, but if it may save my people, I care not if it means I need to die to make it happen.”
Krath sneered. “You do not understand. You cannot win.”
“I am but one mortal enchantress. Why is this a concern to you, my lord?”
“Because I would rather not see you dead as an obstacle to Grom’s ambitions for this land. You are brave and intelligent, and I care for your… wellbeing.”
“I thank you, but what is it you would have me do, Lord Krath?”
“I would not have you do anything that is repulsive either to your sense of self or duty,” he said. “My aim is to warn you. The only way for you to survive this war is to quit now. You are still insignificant to Grom, but if you keep killing his armies, it will not last.”
“Thank you for the advice, but I cannot abide by it. This is where we differ.” She f
isted her hands. “I cannot stop and would hate myself if I did. I would hate anyone who tried to make me!”
Krath nodded. “I do not doubt you would, my lady.”
Dulcea pursed her lips. “Something here escapes my understanding. What happened between you two? You had fifteen hundred years. Why does Grom still live?”
“It is simple, I do not know how to kill him,” Krath said. “We clashed often enough during the first nine centuries after my death. I had a different view on it then, but the years have cured me of that. I am beyond death, more immortal than any other creature that ever lived, and yet I am only his equal. His powers are beyond my comprehension.”
She frowned, looking confused. “Have you… given up hope? Is that what you mean to imply?”
The vampire made a noncommittal sound. “If that is what you wish to call it. I prefer to think of it as prudence. It would be foolish to attack him, and I am not foolhardy. Those times are behind me. I will not rush into battle. All it has ever brought me or the people I have sought to defend is misery. Tell me, Lady Dulcea, what do you think of the consequences of your actions? What will happen to your followers in the inevitable case that you defeat the Saruseans on this continent, and Grom retaliates by killing you?”
“I hope they will continue the fight,” Dulcea said with confidence. “The golden dragons will help them. Perhaps one of my generals could become the next Golden Dragonlord after me.”
“And what if the Golden Clan cannot help them?” the vampire asked. “You know what would have happened if I had not come to your aid at Serpent Rocks.”
She gulped. “Do you reckon it’s possible for one man to hold two dragonstones?”
He shook his head. “No, I do not think it is, but Grom need not hold it himself to prevent the dragons from coming to your generals’ aid. It would not matter to which of his soldiers he gave it. The dragons cannot go against their new master’s wishes, even if they chose not to listen to him otherwise. To disobey this makeup of their very being would be detrimental to them.”
“You are saying the rebellion has no future, regardless of whether I live or die?”
Immortal Defiance Page 25
