Sweep of the Blade

by Ilona Andrews

  He took the tablet and broke into a sprint.

  “The chairs are not adjustable!” Lisoun reported.

  “Get me a station engineer.” Maud looked at the crowd. “Next!”

  Konstana thrust herself into Maud’s view. They hadn’t seen each other since the Communal. The red-haired knight’s arm didn’t show any signs of ever being broken.

  “I’m your security chief,” she said.

  She had a security chief. “How many people do we have?”

  “Three squads, sixty knights total, but they are only letting me take six. They expect me to secure thirty-eight aliens with six vampires.”

  Maud raised her eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”

  Konstana scoffed. “Of course not. But I do need to know how they are getting to the station. Are we transporting them or are they transporting themselves? And if they are transporting themselves, are we going to let them dock or are they shuttling over via their shuttles or via ours?”

  “What does Sergeant-at-Arms say?”

  “He said to ask you.”

  Thank you, Lord Soren. “Get battle station security chief on the line and figure out if a non-regulation shuttle can even dock there. Let me know what you find out.”

  Lisoun pushed her way into the circle. She grasped Maud’s arm and half -guided, half-propelled her behind a podium next to her desk where a large screen presented her with a tough looking female vampire standing in a large hall. The smooth black floor split, a glossy onyx contraption spiraled out of it and unfolded into a round table ringed by eight sojourn style chairs. The chairs were big, rectangular, and blocky. The worst-case scenario.

  “How wide are those chair backs at the seat?” Maud asked.

  “Twenty lots,” the engineer reported, which her implant helpfully converted into twenty-eight inches. Right.

  “I need you to cut a hole in the back of the chair at the seat level, twenty-four inches wide and eight inches tall.”

  The engineer stared at her, incredulous. “You want me to deface the an-alloy chairs?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at Lisoun. “I need the sitting chart?”

  A diagram popped out on side screen. Oh Universe, what in the world… “This is wrong,” she told Lisoun. “We cannot put the royal in the back of the hall.”

  “Lord Soren said…”

  “Go back to Lord Soren and ask him if he would like to have a war with the Tachi Protectorate. Lady Dil’ki is not just a scientist, she is a member of the royal house. She and the Nuan Cee have to be seated in the front. This needs to be reworked.”

  Lisoun took off.

  “These chairs are a marvel of function and durability,” the engineer growled. “The an-alloy is nearly indestructible.”

  “I have…” she checked her personal unit. “Thirty-eight aliens, of which twenty-two are too small to sit in these chairs and the others have vestigial appendages which prevent them from sitting at all.”

  “These chairs were never designed for aliens!”

  “Well, now they have to accommodate some, so find a way to destruct indestructible chairs. I will send over an updated sitting chart. Every chair marked tachi must have a hole. Every chair marked lees must be adjusted for a being of three to four feet in height.”

  The engineer bared her fangs. “On whose authority?”

  “On my authority. I’m the Maven. Look at it as a challenge.”

  The engineer opened her mouth.

  Maud loaded steel into her voice. “When these aliens go off into the Galaxy, they will praise House Krahr’s hospitality instead of telling the Universe that the elite of vampire engineering couldn’t solve a trivial problem of the appropriate seating. We will not embarrass ourselves. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “I see you are settling into your role,” a familiar voice said.

  Maud raised her head from the screen. “Lord Erast?”

  The Scribe nodded at her and passed her a tablet. “The Preceptor would like you to make the necessary edits. She wishes to deliver the document to the parties in question as soon as possible.”

  Maud raised the tablet. A green spark of the scanner flashed at her. The contents were locked to her. The screen flared into life.

  Mutual Cooperation Pact.

  The following Articles are to outline the involvement and voluntary participation of Clan Nuan and Tachi Protectorate…

  Oh no. “This won’t work.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” the Scribe asked.

  “It says involvement.”

  “Involvement is a perfectly good word.”

  “We’re dealing with the lees. It’s like making a deal with…” the devil. She grappled with her knowledge of ancient sagas, looking for a reference. “Yarlas the Cunning.”

  Lord Erast raised his eyebrows.

  “If we leave any gap, any hint at alternative interpretation, they will drive a spacecruiser through it. We have to make this super simple. Short clear sentences. No ambiguity at all or we will end up explaining to Lady Ilemina why the lees now own the station and half of the planet. This will require an extensive edit.”

  She stared at the gathering. Six vampires. If she could cull this to a reasonable number, she could devote all of her attention to editing the articles.

  “Everyone with immediate need step forward. Everyone whose issues can wait see me this evening.”

  The six vampires in front of her took a step forward in unison.

  It was going to be a long day.

  Maud stood in the middle of the Officer Hall and watched the entrance ceremony unfold on a large screen. The banquet room, a large space meant to accommodate five hundred diners, spread before her, an expanse of smooth onyx-black floor punctuated by the rosettes of tables and chairs made of the same glossy black. Crimson banners of House Krahr stretched along the walls, the black cat-like predator on them snarling to remind the gathering in whose house they were about to dine.

  The blast shields of the massive battle station were down, and the far side of the hall was all window, the universe glittering beyond, with the turquoise and blue orb of the planet rising slowly to the right. A spray of radiant stars winked from beyond, the Krahr Homeworld Fleet displayed for the guests in a show of power and strength.

  A dais had been raised in center, with the windows as the backdrop, and in the middle of it a small vala tree spread its gnarled black branches, its red leaves glowing against the cosmos, at once fragile and indomitable, a testament to the power of life that flourished given the slightest chance.

  Both Kozar and Serak were already seated, taking up the center swath of the tables. The tachi, in the newly butchered chairs, and the lees were also seated, the tachi on the left, and the lees on the right, with the heads of both delegation near the dais. House Krahr would take the back rows of the tables. If either Kozor of Serak recognized that they were being boxed in, they could do nothing about it.

  She had spoken to both factions about what to expect and offered protective detail for the wedding. Both declined.

  “But why won’t the Krahr simply say no?” Dil’ki had asked her as they strolled through the Maven’s gardens. “It would avoid the loss of life.”

  “It’s about face,” Nuan Cee had said, drawing his paw over his muzzle. “One must never lose it.”

  “It’s a challenge,” Maud had explained. “Kozor and Serak hope to accomplish an incredible feat, worthy of the old sagas. The response from the Krahr must be equally heroic. They will reject any number advantage.”

  “They truly believe themselves to be that good?” Dil’ki had asked.

  “Yes,” Maud had told her.

  The royal sat quietly now, clad in diaphanous veils and glowing jewelry of her kind. Her warriors waited around her, all a saturated even color. Despite what was coming, the tachi were at ease.

  At the other side of the hall, Clan Nuan in their best gold and jewels, all wearing the soft silky aprons chattered and g
iggled without a care in the world.

  The Herald announced Ilemina and Otubar. The hosts entered the hall last, according to tradition, and Ilemina and Otubar walked to their table, Ilemina elegant in her ornate armor and Otubar stalking next to her like a hulking krahr in a bad mood, while the Herald barked out their titles: Supreme Predator, Killer, Destroyer, Marauder, Slayer…

  Maud wished with all her heart that she could hug Helen again. She left her on the planet. The battle station was no place for a child, especially if things would proceed as expected. She had to do what she did best: survive. Eliminate the threat and go back, to her daughter, her future husband, and her new home.

  Easier said than done.

  Arland approached. She felt his presence rather than saw him and turned. He towered above her in full syn-armor with a crimson cloak that made him seem even more enormous. His blood mace rested on his hip. He’d pulled his long blond hair from his face and secured it at the nape of his neck, and his features looked carved from granite, his blue eyes hard and cold. A Marshal in every sense of the word, meant to inspire fear.

  He held out his arm to her. “Ready, my love?”

  “Yes.” She put her hand on his wrist, her fingers light as a feather.

  They entered the long narrow hallway leading to the banquet hall, moving in-step.

  Ahead the microphone-enhanced voice of the Herald recited their titles, booming through the room.

  “Arland Rotburtar Lord Gabrian, 28th Heir of Krahr, Marshal of his House, Bloodmace, Bone Crusher, Ravager of Nexus, Destroyer of the World Killer, Kill count of two hundred and twenty-four.”

  Maud caught their reflection in the polished walls. In it a strange woman glided next to Arland, wearing black armor and carrying a blood sword, a narrow crimson sash of the Maven wrapped around her left shoulder, crossing over her collar bone and draping over her right shoulder to trail behind her to the floor. She was graceful and strong, and walked next to a vampire prince like she belonged there.

  A giddy, electric anticipation surged through her. They were walking to a fight. Finally, an end to all the pressure. One way or the other, it would be decided. Her lips threatened to curve into a smile, and she forced an arrogant cold mask over her face. Today she was Cinderella and her sword would be her glass slipper.

  “Matilda Rose, Lady and Heir of Demille, Maven of House Krahr.”

  The hallway ended, and they strode into the banquet hall. The entirety of the room was watching them.

  “Maud the Red, the Sariv, the Learned One.”

  They were approaching the table where Onda and Seveline sat. Both women were staring daggers at her.

  “Kill count of sixty and eight.”

  A muscle in Seveline’s face jerked. That’s right, precious. I’m coming for you.

  Arland led her to their table, directly behind the one occupied by the parents of the bride and groom. The two couples had arrived just this morning for the happy occasion.

  She took her seat, keeping her face flat. Behind them, the Herald was announcing the next guest.

  “Alvina Karat Lady Renadra, Captain of Krahr…”

  Maud sipped the light mint drink and watched the hall fill. Two hundred of the Kozor and Serak, all elite fighters, thirty-seven aliens, and two hundred of Krahr, not counting the staff. The hall would have held more, but Ilemina sneered at the thought of pursuing a number advantage. This wasn’t just about winning. This was about winning against the odds. Every moment of this wedding was recorded.

  Twelve vampire women entered the hall, moving in a column two abreast. Each wore a long white robe with a hood and carried a vala tree branch decorated with bells and golden thread. A low chant rose from their lips, a melodious song that floated through the chamber. Beautiful and timeless, it reached deep into one’s soul and found that vulnerable place hidden within. It wrapped around Maud and suddenly she missed her parents, Dina, Klaus, and Helen. She wanted to gather them all to her and hold on, because life was short and fleeting.

  The procession split just short of entering the dais, the women moving along the main floor to encircle the dais, holding their branches straight up, as if guarding the boundary of the platform.

  Twelve vampire knights entered the chamber, out of armor and dressed in plain black tunics, matching black pants, and wearing tall black boots. Each carried a simple black blade. A second chant rose from the men, joining the song of the women, deepening the melody, like a twin vine growing around the first. The song was everywhere now, echoing from the walls, reverberating back on itself and Maud breathed it in.

  The second column split in two and the men took position between the women, each with their blade straight down, its point resting on the floor.

  The song changed, gaining strength and speed.

  A Battle Chaplain entered the chamber. He was tall, his skin grey with a slight blue tint. A mane of black hair shot through with grey fell on his shoulders in dozens of long braids. His vestments the color of flesh blood were split into ribbons, each about eight inches wide, and as he strode forward, they moved and shifted like robes of some mystic mage. He carried an ornate spear, draped with a red cord and decorated with golden bells. Two glowing yellow orbs about the size of a large orange dangled from it,

  The song erupted, suddenly full of joy and triumph.

  Behind the Chaplain, the bride and groom strode in unison, both out of armor. The bride’s gown swept the floor, long, diaphanous, and white. The groom wore an ornate silver doublet over darker pants and soft boots. They had removed all jewelry. Their hair hung loose, brushed back from their faces.

  It was one of the few rare moments the vampires permitted themselves to be vulnerable in public. Maud hadn’t fully grasped the significance of it during her own wedding but now she understood. You came to the altar as you were, hiding nothing from your future spouse.

  Arland reached over and squeezed her hand. She smiled at him.

  The Chaplain ascended the dais. The couple followed and the three of them took their places in front of the vala tree. The Chaplain raised the spear and touched its end to the floor.

  The chant died.

  The Chaplain opened his mouth.

  An alarm blared through the chamber.

  A screen opened in the middle of the wall, showing a male vampire knight on the bridge of the battle station.

  Arland rose to his feet. “Report.”

  “We are showing multiple unidentified craft entering the system,” the knight said, his voice calm. “We are under attack.”

  The banquet hall had gone completely silent. When a huge screen projected on the wall, three merchant barges raced from the gate deeper into the system, squeezing every drop of speed out of their protesting engines. Behind them, a pirate flotilla swelled like a swarm of angry hornets. A single barge could’ve fit all of its attackers in its bloated hull, but the pirate ships made up for their lack of tonnage in maneuverability and weapons. No two vessels were alike, but, limited only by the imagination of their crew and the laws of physics, all of them bristled with every possible weapon they could rig onto their hulls, from kinetic cannons to missile batteries. They chased after the lumbering merchants like school of barracudas ready to tear into an injured whale.

  Arland watched the chase, his face impassive, as if unaware that every person in the hall was waiting for him to make his move.

  “We’re receiving distress calls from the barges,” the officer from the bridge reported. “They are begging for our assistance, my lord.”

  “Put it through,” Arland said.

  A scratchy, static-filled distress call played from hidden speakers, screams of beings in pain, spearheaded by an urgent, desperate female voice, “…rear thrusters lost… hull integrity compromised… requesting immediate aid. We’re at your mercy…”

  The call cut out.

  “Will House Krahr stand idly by and permit this piracy?” the father of the groom demanded. His voice boomed through the hall.

&nb
sp; Maud glanced at Ilemina. Arland’s mother sipped her wine, appearing fully unconcerned.

  “Lord Marshal!” the bride called. Tears stained her cheeks. “Please. Don’t let this travesty stain my wedding.”

  Arland turned to the bride, concern obvious on his face. “Do not worry, my lady. You have my word that I will allow nothing to ruin this day.”

  Arland turned to the screen. “Give me the feed from the Eradicator.”

  The screen flashed with white, and a new image snapped into view, a swarm of sparks silhouetted against dark cosmos, and then, as if by magic, huge elegant vessels appeared on both sides and above, framing the screen – the House Krahr armada waiting in formation between the Battle Station and the incoming invaders. If the barges could reach the firing envelope of the leading Krahr vessel, they would be safe.

  “Lord Harrendar,” Arland said.

  The image of a middle-aged vampire with a blue-black mane appeared in the lower left corner. “Lord Marshal.” Lord Harrendar sounded like a lion who somehow became a vampire.

  “How close are the leading pirate vessels to the barges?”

  “We expect them to reach firing range in forty seconds.”

  Arland waited.

  The division in the banquet hall was obvious now. The members of House Krahr waited in tense silence, while the wedding guests appeared almost frantic, as if they were barely able to contain themselves. From her spot, Maud had a clear view of the groom’s mother and the woman looked ready to explode. Next to her the bride’s mother tapped her fingers on the table, looking as if her armor was on too tight.

  Seconds ticked by.

  “Do something,” the bride’s father growled.

  Arland ignored him. Maud’s heart hammered. She forced herself to reach for her drink and take slow measured sips. The tension in the hall was so thick, you could cut it and serve it in slabs on a plate.