by Greg Cox
The warmth of the moment vanished abruptly, supplanted by a sudden foreboding that she did her best to conceal. “Father, what do you mean ‘gone’?”
Was not lifetime imprisonment punishment enough?
“Coloman fears that he will stir up the other lycans,” he said with deliberate casualness. His eyes searched her face for any untoward reaction. “We must remove him expeditiously.”
Sonja realized she was being tested. It took all her discipline to keep her dismay from showing upon her face. “This is difficult,” she said coolly. “He has been with us for so long.” She pretended to give the matter some thought, as though replacing Lucian was simply a minor household arrangement. “Perhaps Thrasos? Or Gyorg? They would be most trustworthy.”
Her blasé tone hid an almost overwhelming sense of panic. Was her father truly intending to have Lucian put to death? Or perhaps buried alive in some forgotten oubliette like William? Either prospect filled her with despair.
Let it not be so!
Her answer seemed to satisfy her father, however. “Excellent suggestions. I will consider them strongly.” Smiling, he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead before leaving her alone in the bloodstained hall with only her hidden fears and guilt to keep her company. A bell tolled the hour, heralding the dawn.
Time was running out for her and Lucian.
Returning to her chambers, Sonja pondered her options. Her mind was awhirl; it seemed that over the last few hours her entire world had turned upside-down. It struck her as tragically ironic that, after two centuries of immortality, it had taken only one night to reduce her life to tatters.
To think that only yesterday Lucian and I made love in the old tower…
Heavy drapes and wooden shutters shielded the room from the lethal sunlight outside. A blazing hearth kept out the winter’s chill. A lighted candelabra cast dancing shadows upon the intricate runes adorning the walls. A plush carpet absorbed her footsteps as she returned her burgundy surcoat to an imported mahogany armoire across from the vanity. As she did so, her swinging pendant tapped against the wooden door of the wardrobe. Lifting the amulet off her chest, she stared at it in melancholy. Memories of happier times flooded over her:
No more than a child, she beams up at her father as he gently places the pendant around her neck. The gift is perhaps the most beautiful thing she has ever seen; that her father trusts her with so precious an object makes her feel very special indeed. She vows to cherish it always. Bending low, he softly kisses her on the cheek and she throws her tiny arms around him, treating him to the biggest hug she can manage. A warm chuckle greets her embrace and he lifts her easily from the floor.
Snug in her father’s comfortable arms, she feels secure in his undying love….
The idyllic memory faded, leaving her back in the present. Sonja’s throat tightened and she wiped a tear from her eye. Everything had seemed so simple once; why must she now choose between her heritage and her love? Her father and Lucian?
She glanced around the opulent bedchamber, perhaps for the very last time. The familiar furnishings tugged at her heart, which felt torn in two directions. Treasured heirlooms, many of them inherited from her mother, ornamented the shelves and dressers. Her armor was mounted proudly upon its rack. Her favorite incense perfumed the air. Castle Corvinus had been the only home she had ever known, but there was no future for her or Lucian here. And no hope for Lucian at all unless she took decisive action before night fell once more.
Tanis, she thought. I must find Tanis.
Casting her doubts aside, she made up her mind at last. The pendant slipped from her fingers, falling back onto her bosom, as she closed the door of the armoire. She would not be needing her fine attire any longer. A gown of chain mail was all she required now.
And a sharpened dagger.
The castle archives were Tanis’ exclusive domain. Centuries’ worth of ancient scrolls and manuscripts, many dating back to the very birth of the coven, were squirreled away in the numerous wrought-iron pigeonholes lining the walls. Literacy being both rare and underappreciated in these benighted times, few besides Tanis ever consulted the dusty chronicles. Which was just as it should be, as far as he was concerned. There were secrets buried in the archives that were best left undisturbed.
At least for the present.
The scribe sat at his desk, diligently chronicling tonight’s memorable events on an unrolled sheet of parchment. Inkwells and goose quills cluttered the desktop, alongside loose scraps of paper, leather-bound tomes, and other scholarly paraphernalia. A flickering beeswax candle had burned down almost to its base, the melted wax spreading out like a greasy fungus across the bottom of the candle holder. A penknife waited to sharpen the points of the quills as required. An empty goblet needed refilling.
Pausing to dip his quill in an inkwell, Tanis yawned and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long night and he was eager to retire to his own quarters, but he felt compelled to record the day’s happenings while his memory was still fresh. The devil was in the details, as the saying went, and he was loath to let any crucial nuance be lost to history.
Now then, he mused, how best to describe Janosh’s untimely demise?
Inspiration struck and he put pen to paper once more:
“The insolent mortal, whose overweening pride and avarice led him to forget the sacred obligations he owed his liege, met his just reward when Lord Viktor, in all his awful glory, smote him before the transfixed gaze of his entire court. The varlet’s brains were dashed against the unforgiving walls of the great hall as the mighty Elder delivered swift and terrible justice to the unworthy noble….”
Intent upon his literary efforts, the scribe failed to hear the stealthy approach of footsteps behind him—until a powerful hand suddenly grabbed him by the collar and flung him against a nearby rack of scrolls. The impact rattled the dusty shelves. Something cold and sharp pressed beneath his chin and he looked down in alarm to see a long steel dagger at his throat. Sonja glared at him, her unsmiling face only inches from his own. Cold brown eyes threatened him with instant extinction. An armored elbow dug into his chest.
“What have you told my father?” she demanded.
Tanis suddenly regretted taunting Lucian earlier. His brain raced feverishly to fashion a suitable response. Should he confess to his knowledge, or feign ignorance? It was hard to think clearly with a knife at his throat.
He did not answer quickly enough for Sonja, who nicked his skin with the edge of her blade. A trickle of blood ran down his neck, mingling with the cold sweat breaking out across his pallid flesh.
“What have you told him?”
“Nothing,” he insisted. The murderous look in her eyes convinced him that lying to her would be a very bad idea.
She withdrew the blade by just a hair. “Why?”
“Wh-why what?”
“Why have you told him nothing?” She spoke cautiously, reluctant to divulge any more than necessary. “I have heard you have secrets.”
Tanis wondered why she had not killed him already. Could it be that she required something from him, perhaps information as to just how secret her scandalous love affair remained? A trace of his usual sardonic attitude crept back into his voice as he surmised that it might still be possible to talk his way out of this prickly situation.
“Everyone has secrets, milady,” he observed, mustering a shaky smile. “I have more than most.”
“About me?”
“A few, yes,” he confessed.
Sonja nodded, as though he had merely confirmed something she had already suspected. “And why keep them secret?”
He faltered, uncertain how best to answer that query. Dare he confess that he had not yet figured out the best way to exploit that knowledge? What if she chose to silence him once and for all?
These are dangerous waters indeed….
She seemed to find his hesitation amusing. A heartless smirk lifted the corners of her ruby lips. “Or is that a secret, too?”
“This game we are playing is boring,” she stated flatly. “And I am not a good loser, as I am sure you know.”
Fearing for his life, Tanis broke his silence. “Would your father welcome the man who brought him news that his beloved daughter was consorting with a lycan?”
He snorted at the idea. “He is not well known for his gratitude. So”—he decided to lay all his cards on the table—“I am not yet in a position to use your secrets to my benefit.”
Sonja’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of benefit?”
He sensed that they were getting to the nub of this tense negotiation. Perhaps these were precisely the sort of answers Sonja had come looking for?
“There are twelve council seats,” he said carefully.
Sonja grasped his meaning. “And we do not die often.”
“Sadly, no.” Alas, a hierarchy of immortals offered few opportunities for advancement. No new member had been admitted to the Council since Sonja herself had achieved her majority.
“So what if I simply gave up my seat at Council?” she suggested. “Left it to you.”
Was she serious? Tanis was hesitant to look a gift horse in the mouth, yet this sounded too good to be true. “And why would you do that?”
Sonja withdrew the dagger. She stepped backward to permit him a little more breathing room. A wisp of a smile suggested that she had more of a talent for politics and intrigue than she had ever demonstrated before.
“Can you keep a secret?” she asked.
Touché, he thought. After a distressing start, this meeting was rapidly becoming more to his liking. He nodded and smiled back at her.
“I might need something in exchange,” she volunteered.
He was all ears.
Chapter Twelve
Even locked away in the dungeon, Lucian sensed the sun go down. Moonlight infiltrated the flea-infested cell he shared with the other slaves. Nightfall meant feeding time as well; scowling guards banged on the walls to rouse the lycans from slumber, then hurled buckets of raw meat and vegetables through the bars. The rancid fare splattered onto the grubby straw bedding. Lucian was dismayed by his fellow lycans’ table manners as they descended on the food like wild animals, elbowing each other aside in their eagerness to claim the choicest bits of the miserable slop. Bloody juices ran down their chins as they crammed the meat into their mouths with bare hands. Gnawing on the bones, they noisily slurped down the marrow.
Lucian’s stomach growled. He had eaten nothing since his beating yesterday, and his depleted body required sustenance, yet he was reluctant to take part in the degrading feeding frenzy. He kept his distance, hoping to salvage a few scraps after the rest of the pack was done gorging themselves. Perhaps there would still be a few rancid vegetables or half-chewed bones left.
To his surprise, however, Xristo snagged a meaty rib and, instead of tearing into it himself, lobbed it over to Lucian. The tempting morsel flew over the heads of the other lycans, who snatched at it unsuccessfully, before landing in Lucian’s outstretched hands. He was both moved and startled by the young lycan’s generosity; apparently Xristo had not forgotten how Lucian had stood up for him before.
Who would have guessed, Lucian thought, that an illiterate lycan slave could show more character than Lord Viktor himself?
He nodded gratefully at Xristo, then sniffed the bloody rib, which seemed rather fresher than the lycans’ usual victuals. His eyes widened in surprise. This is not horsemeat, he realized. His finger traced the curve of his own rib cage as he examined the bone more carefully. By the moon, this is human flesh!
Such was hardly their customary fare. Lucian could only wonder what some mortal had done to end up on their menu. Whom had Viktor literally fed to the dogs?
He sniffed the meat again. Its mortal origins gave him pause, but ultimately he decided that he was in no position to be finicky. He needed to regain his strength if he want to escape this hellish prison. Putting his scruples aside, he tore at the bloody rib with his teeth.
After all, he rationalized, this was hardly the first time he had tasted human flesh.
It was even more delicious than he remembered….
Still, he thought it best not to illuminate Raze on the true nature of his repast. After feeding the lycans, the guards moved on to provide the human prisoners with moldy vegetables and loaves of stale black bread. As before, Raze sat across from Lucian as he chewed on a wilted head of cabbage. The iron bars between them had proved little impediment to their growing friendship.
The giant remained impressed by the speed with which Lucian had recovered from the merciless flogging. By now, the welts left by Kosta’s cat-o’-nine-tails had vanished entirely.
“Will you live forever?” Raze asked.
“I have been asking myself that question for nearly two centuries,” Lucian admitted. “I feared that today I might find the answer.”
Raze was obviously intrigued by his strange new ally. “You were born like this?”
“The first of my kind. I grew to a man and have aged little since. And all in captivity,” he added bitterly. Indeed, for all he knew, he had been born in this very cell, or one very much like it. “Viktor’s little experiment. Our bite, it seems, is infectious. He used me to create others. They created more. And soon he had his ‘daylight guardians’, as the vampires call us.” He snorted at the lofty-sounding appellation. “Daylight guardian? Sounds rather more tasteful than slave, does it not?”
Before Raze could answer, a fierce fight broke out in one of the adjoining cages. Two surly lycans vied for a hefty chunk of meat that bore a suspicious resemblance to a human heart. A bear-sized older lycan by the name of Vasily clutched the dripping heart under one arm, while fending off a younger challenger, Ferenz, who was determined to wrest the tempting prize from him. Vasily’s hair had been shaved by the lycans to rid him of lice, while Ferenz boasted a mane of greasy red tresses. Bestial growls and snarls came from the men as they circled each other like crazed mastiffs fighting over a bone. Ferenz grabbed at the heart, despite the slashing nails and bared fangs of the larger man. Tufts of hair and skin went flying as they traded vicious scratches and bites, to the tumultuous delight of the other lycans, who hooted and hollered at the frenzied combatants. The gleeful prisoners clustered around the ferocious brawl, rudely jostling each other in their eagerness to get a better view. Blood splattered the faces of the spectators, which only excited them further. Such barbaric spectacles were what passed for entertainment in these quarters.
“Get ’im!” a jubilant lycan roared, although it was unclear which combatant he was rooting for. “Rip his guts out!”
“That’s it!” another called out. He stamped his feet upon the floor and waved a bloody leg bone in encouragement. A plump black rat, which had come sneaking in for scraps, scurried for safety. “Don’t let him get away with that! Go for his throat!”
A handful of guards lingered to watch the show as well. They laughed and applauded, while placing bets on which lycan would come out on top, and whether one or both would end up dead or maimed. “Fifteen coppers says the bald one loses an eye,” a soldier wagered, provoking another round of furious betting. Crude jeers mocked the lycans’ respective prowess and ancestry, until an impatient shout from the vampires’ commander forced them to reluctantly abandon their sport. Rattling coins were thrust back into purses.
Disgraceful, Lucian thought. He watched the grumbling soldiers exit the dungeons. Tossing aside the human rib, which his bloody teeth had already stripped to the bone, he waited until the brawlers in the next cage came within reach, then grabbed Vasily through the bars and locked his elbow beneath the man’s neck. Seeing his opportunity, Ferenz started to lunge for the heart, but Lucian
warned him off with a threatening growl. His fierce gaze drove the red-maned lycan back and quieted the raucous crowd, although not a few of the overexcited lycans glowered at Lucian for interrupting their fun. Disappointed faces bared their fangs.
“We are not animals,” he whispered intensely, then raised his voice so that all could hear. “We are not animals!”
A hush fell over the dungeons as his words struck home.
“Is this what you want?” he challenged his brothers. “To be their entertainment? Their playthings? Their pets?” Scorn dripped from his voice as he forced them to confront the harsh reality of their wretched lives. “Cowering beneath the whip and then fighting amongst ourselves? Is that what you truly desire?”
Vasily struggled to free himself from the headlock Lucian had him in. His hairless skull bounced against the hard steel bars. He snarled spitefully. “Easy for you to say, blacksmith!”
Lucian ignored the brawler’s rebuke. He released Vasily and shoved him away. The man staggered into the crowd, while massaging his bruised throat. He crammed the pulped remains of the coveted heart into his mouth. Blood trickled down his chin.
“I have lived by their rules for my entire life,” Lucian confessed. “I have envied them, protected them, even crafted the weapons they use to slay our brothers in the forest. And for what? To be treated like an animal?” He shook his head. “No.”
Not anymore, he vowed. Not even if I live for centuries to come.
The other lycans listened to him in rapt fascination, as did Raze and his fellow humans. Any lingering resentment faded from the faces of the audience as they fell under the spell of Lucian’s words. Xristo and Sabas came forward, nodding in agreement. Lucian was glad to see that their wounds also had healed.
“We do have a choice.” He gestured at their sordid abode. “We can choose to be more than this. We can choose to be free—in here.” He thumped his chest, directly above his heart, then tapped the side of his skull as well. “And in here.” He paused to let that provocative notion sink in before spelling it out for them. His voice rang out passionately as he raised his arms in exhortation. “We can be slaves—or we can be lycans!”
