by Greg Cox
Unharmed by the daylight, Lucian touched down nimbly on a rugged ledge just beyond the castle walls. A cloud of chalky white ash, which was all that remained of the incinerated Death Dealers, descended upon his head and shoulders. Scorched pieces of armor bounced off the rocks. Lucian spit out a mouthful of gritty ash. He wiped the powdered remains from his face.
Two more vampires dead!
Glancing up at the castle, he saw the other lycans leap from the shattered window. Raze brushed himself off and nodded at Lucian. He gripped the hilt of his sword as the rest of the lycans dropped beside them.
Lucian was glad to see that more than a dozen of his comrades had survived so far, although a few had been wounded by silver arrows during the slaughter in the gallery. A hairy-chested lycan named Rainar grimaced in pain as he yanked a bloody bolt from his shoulder. Smoke rose from his seared flesh. Lucian sympathized with the man’s pain, having endured the excruciating sting of Kosta’s arrows that night at the crossroads. Still, the injury didn’t seem life-threatening….
There will be time enough to tend to our wounded later, he decided. First we need to reach the safety of the forest.
Turning his back on the castle walls, he eyed the mountain slope before them. At the foot of the mountain, a barren plain stretched between them and the sheltering wilderness. He knew they would not be truly free until they reached the forest.
But at least they had the dawn on their side. Even now, the sun was cresting the horizon, heralding the first day of the rest of their immortality. The warm glow of the sun felt like a benediction as the lycans scrambled down the mountainside toward freedom.
The guardhouse atop the front gate offered a commanding view of the mountainous terrain below the castle. Flanked by an elite regiment of Death Dealers, Viktor strode through the gatehouse toward the battlements beyond. The fortified garrison, which was wedged in between two flanking towers, held room enough for an entire company of defenders. Crude cots and tables provided a few creature comforts for the guards stationed above the gate. An iron winch stood by to raise or lower the portcullis as needed. The ominous red glow on the horizon gave Victor pause, however, and he hesitated before the doorway leading out onto the ramparts. Daylight had been his enemy for centuries now and he had not survived so long by tempting fate unnecessarily. He lingered prudently in the shadow of the doorway.
Until he spied Lucian leading an entire pack of lycans away from the castle.
Fury erupted inside him. “Get them!” he roared at the nearest Death Dealer, who looked uncertainly at the sunlit palisade. The soldier’s cowardice enraged Viktor. Lucian and his traitorous followers were getting away. They had to be stopped… now!
He shoved the recalcitrant guard out the doorway, hoping there was still time to halt Lucian’s escape with a well-aimed crossbow bolt. But the sun’s relentless advance reduced such hopes to ashes, along with the unlucky guard. The soldier ignited like a human torch. Shrieking and flailing about in his death throes, he tumbled between two weathered stone merlons and plummeted over the side of the wall. Smoke and flames trailed behind him as he crashed to earth many feet below.
Damnation! Viktor cursed. The knight’s death upset him less than the fact that the man had failed to kill Lucian first. The fates themselves are conspiring against me!
The Death Dealer’s fiery descent caught Lucian’s attention. Viktor watched in frustration as the fleeing lycan looked back over his shoulder at the smoldering remains of the soldier. A worried expression on his face, Lucian peered up at the guardhouse atop the gates.
“Go!” he shouted to his men. “Now!”
Viktor’s eyes met Lucian’s. They glared at each other across the distance. No more than a hundred yards separated them, yet, thanks to the rising sun, it might as well have been leagues for all Viktor could do to stop the fugitives. The accursed daylight crept inexorably across the ramparts toward the entrance of the guardhouse, shielding the rebels from Viktor’s dreadful wrath. The Elder’s guards retreated from the doorway, but Viktor remained frozen in place, not yet willing to concede this battle to Lucian and his seditious rabble. “Milord!” a soldier entreated him, urging him to seek safety from the sun’s deadly rays. She tugged nervously on Viktor’s arm.
He shook off the Death Dealer’s hand. His rage rooted him to the spot. His gnashed his fangs. His fists were clenched at his sides, his sharpened nails digging into his palms. He stood frozen in the doorway, glowering at the escaping rebels, even as a golden beam swept over his hand. Smoke rose from his ancient flesh, which sizzled and blackened at the sun’s pernicious touch. He hissed through his teeth.
Ignoring the pain, he refused to unlock his gaze from Lucian’s. The arrogant blacksmith glared back at him, equally determined not to give ground. An infuriating smirk came over Lucian’s face as the sun fought his battle for him. He stepped forward boldly, taunting Viktor, and shook his fist in defiance.
Turncoat! Betrayer! Viktor fumed silently. I should have killed you along with the bitch that bore you!
The lycan’s blatant ingratitude stung more fiercely than the sunlight, which was even now creeping toward his face, but at last Viktor could ignore the agonizing glare no longer. Nursing his burnt hand, he withdrew into the comforting gloom of the guardhouse, where he seethed in impotent frustration. As long as the sun remained in the sky, there was nothing he could do to prevent Lucian and his filthy allies from making good their escape. They had thwarted him… for now.
This is not over, he vowed. Lucian will pay for his audacity even if I have to hunt down every werewolf on the continent. He’ll plead for death before I’m through with him!
But first he had to find out just how this inexcusable travesty had come to pass.
Lucian savored the sight of Viktor retreating into the shadows. It was a small victory but a victory nonetheless. And probably the first time an Elder had been humbled by a lycan since the days of William.
With luck, it would not be the last.
He basked in the sunlight, feeling the warmth of the morning upon his face. Their escape had been fraught with danger and cost the lives of many innocent lycans, but they had succeeded in the end. Now all that remained was for Sonja to join them, three nights hence.
For the first time in two centuries, Lucian faced a future of unlimited possibilities. No doubt Viktor would attempt to hunt them down, but first the vengeful Elder had to find them. Lucian felt confident in his abilities to elude the Death Dealers; if the werewolves of the wild had managed to thrive for centuries despite the vampires’ best efforts, surely he and his fellow lycans could fight back against Viktor’s troops as well. A new era dawned, for both himself and all lycans. He couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow held in store.
Turning his back on the castle, perhaps forever, he led them all toward the distant forest.
A new day dawned.
Chapter Fifteen
Viktor’s hand had already healed by the time he reached the dungeons, but the memory of Lucian’s escape still rankled him. He gazed down at Kosta’s headless body while his men disposed of the two dead guards they’d found in the corridor leading to Lucian’s cell. Cracked skulls and slashed throats testified to the manner of their demise, while the nature of Kosta’s murderer was equally apparent; Viktor had seen enough mauled corpses over the centuries to recognize the victim of a werewolf when he saw one. The fang marks on the overseers’ skull, as well as a few shed tufts of thick black fur, allowed the scowling Elder to easily reconstruct the attack in his mind. A discarded moon shackle, lying in the corner of the cell, left little doubt as to the identity of the beast that had savaged Kosta.
Lucian, Viktor fumed. Free of his collar once again.
He cursed himself for not having the seditious blacksmith put to death instead of flogged the night of the mortal nobles’ visit. He had delayed in doing what was necessary, and Kosta had paid the price. Viktor resolved not to make that mistake again. But how had Lucian managed to remove his collar i
n the first place?
“Tanis!” he snarled. “Tanis!”
A trio of unsmiling Death Dealers escorted the nervous-looking scribe into the cell. Disheveled hair and garments suggested that he had been abruptly roused from slumber. Viktor had immediately dispatched the soldiers to fetch Tanis upon Lucian’s escape. Now he angrily plucked the open collar from the floor and waved it in the scribe’s face.
“Where is the key I gave you for this?”
Tanis swallowed hard. He wrung his hands together anxiously. “I… I locked that up in the armory myself.”
“Then how was this opened?” Viktor demanded. The scribes obvious anxiety seemed to him a sure sign of guilt.
Tanis stammered in response. “I… I have no idea.”
“I do,” Viktor stated. There was only one obvious conclusion. “You gave him the key.” He turned to the captain of the guard, his mind made up. Someone had to pay for this morning’s catastrophe. “Kill him.”
“No!” Tanis yelped, even as the knight drew his sword. The scribe dropped to his knees amidst the bloody straw. He clasped his hands as he shrilly pleaded his innocence. “No, milord! Check the armory! There has to be some explanation!”
Viktor pondered the other vampire’s words. Could it be that he was being too hasty in his judgment? The guard raised his sword above his head, taking aim at Tanis’ throat, but Viktor held up his hand to forestall the fatal blow. The knight lowered the sword and stepped away.
“Show me,” Viktor said.
The forest clearing felt like paradise compared to the stinking dungeons of Castle Corvinus. Interlaced tree branches offered shade from the sun. Soft green moss carpeted the boulders and fallen logs upon which the weary fugitives rested. A spongy layer of fallen leaves and other detritus muffled their tread. A babbling stream quenched their thirst. Birdsong filled the air. A cool breeze rustled through the trees and bushes. Nature had blessed the lycans’ first day of freedom with a clear blue sky. It felt good to be alive.
A lock clicked open as Sabas removed his moon shackle with Lucian’s key. He hurled the spike-lined collar away from him before lobbing the key over to Xristo, who eagerly liberated himself from his own shackle. The husky young lycan gaped in wonder at the verdant wilderness surrounding them. He spoke in a hush:
“I have never been outside the walls before.”
Neither had most of the castle’s original crop of lycans, Lucian reflected. “Enjoy it while you can, Xristo. Because soon enough we are going to have to fight our way back in.”
Raze and the others looked up in surprise. Many leapt to their feet in alarm. They glanced fearfully in the direction of the castle. Lucian held up a hand to silence their objections.
“We did not all make it out,” he reminded them, “and I will not leave our brothers to rot back there. We humiliated Viktor. It is they who will pay the cost.”
Indeed, even those lycans who did not join in the escape would likely have a harder time of it now. The Death Dealers and the other vampires were not likely to forgive the deaths of several of their own. All lycans would be treated much more harshly, if only to discourage the possibility of further revolts. Kosta was dead, but some other sadistic vampire was bound to take his place. Sandor, perhaps, or Soren.
All the more reason to overthrow the vampires once and for all.
“But we were lucky to get out of there alive,” Sabas protested. He sounded none too eager to face the Death Dealers again. He gestured around him. “There are but a handful of us. We have few weapons….”
“True,” Lucian admitted. “For now.” He had already conceived of a plan to expand their ranks, however. “I know of many who would join us.” He turned to Raze, who was resting his considerable bulk upon a fallen log. Cracked nutshells littered the ground at the giant’s feet. “The noble who brought you here?” Lucian asked. “Can you lead us back to his estate?”
Raze gave the matter some thought before answering. Lucian recalled that the slaves had been blinded by hoods on their grueling trek to the castle.
“Yes,” Raze said finally.
That was just what Lucian wanted to hear. Large estates meant plenty of desperate serfs and slaves, who might be looking for a way to better their lot in life. And possibly tempted by the prospect of immortality and unlimited power. That sounds like the makings of an army to me, he thought. An army of lycans. “Good.”
Tanis’ hands shook as they fumbled with the padlock on the door to the armory on the second floor of the keep. Twice he dropped the key before he managed to unclasp the lock. His close brush with execution had left him deeply shaken, and sorely regretting his illicit bargain with Sonja. It was as if he could still feel the Death Dealer’s blade poised above the back of his neck. His heart raced like a scared rabbit. His mouth felt as dry as dust.
No council seat is worth this, he thought miserably. Is it?
A sturdy oak door swung open, offering a glimpse of the armory beyond. Viktor stepped aside and, with exaggerated politeness, gestured for Tanis to proceed him. The tremulous scribe felt the Elder’s suspicious eyes upon him as he stepped into the armory and lit a lantern mounted by the door. The glow from the lantern illuminated a cramped, windowless chamber that housed the better part of the castle’s excess arms. Racks of double-edged swords were lined up against the walls. Stacked quivers held supplies of arrows. Crossbows hung upon the walls. Parchment scrolls, laid out atop an angled writing desk, kept inventory of the weapons—and the precious silver used in their construction. Because of the value of the silver blades and arrowheads, Viktor preferred to keep the extra arms locked away from greedy servants. Truth be told, Tanis had occasionally melted down a quarrel or two to dispose of a gambling debt.
Today, however, he ignored the impressive array of weapons as he rummaged hastily through various shelves and cubbyholes. Loose parchments and quills tumbled onto the floor. A stuck drawer rattled beneath the desktop as he fought with it. “It has to be here,” he insisted breathlessly, while Viktor loomed ominously in the doorway. Sweat dripped from Tanis’ brow. His face was pale as death. “I’m positive I put it here… it has to be…” He tugged frantically at the stubborn drawer, which finally slid out into the open. He dived on its contents like a man searching for the only antidote to a lethal poison. “Here!”
Salvation in hand, he held up Lucian’s key—which Viktor had confiscated from the lycan blacksmith after the unfortunate incident at the crossroads. Tanis eagerly handed the key over to the Elder.
Viktor scowled as he examined the key. He appeared almost disappointed to find evidence exonerating the accused scribe. No doubt he disliked being proven wrong. Tanis held his breath as he tensely awaited Viktor’s judgment. He tried not to look too guilty.
Only Sonja knows what part I played in Lucian’s escape, Tanis tried to assure himself. And she will never tell….
“He must have made another key,” Viktor concluded at last. Sighing, he tucked the key into his belt. He smiled unconvincingly at Tanis. “I never doubted you.”
A transparent lie, but not one Tanis cared to dispute. He bowed respectfully as Viktor stalked out of the armory, accompanied by a clatter of Death Dealers. Tanis waited until the echoes of the knights’ heavy tread faded away before he collapsed onto a nearby bench. Gasping in relief, he wiped the perspiration from his brow. His inner garments were soaked with sweat. A moment passed before he permitted himself a small, sly smile.
He had gotten away with it!
Thank the gods that he had thought to forge an extra copy of the key.
Chapter Sixteen
Lucian stood atop a mossy boulder, looking down on a mob of rugged-looking mortal men who stared up at him in awe and excitement. Sunlight filtered through a mesh of overhanging pine branches as he posed at the edge of the forest, overlooking barren fields and orchards. A column of thick black smoke rose on the horizon. As hoped, they had found the estate of Raze’s former master in disarray following the noble’s brutal death two night
s past.
“Now I have no wish to remove one shackle from around your necks, only to replace it with one of my own,” Lucian told the wide-eyed peasants. With their unwashed faces and rough woolen garments, they bore a distinct resemblance to lycan slaves. He doubted that the average mortal could tell them apart. “You have a choice. You can run and hide, or you can stay and fight. Any man who fights with me will have his freedom. And if he wishes it, immortality!”
Not all of the discontented serfs accepted his offer, but enough were tempted to make this afternoon’s expedition worth the trip. Most were restless young striplings who were all too eager to abandon their hopeless lives in search of liberty and adventure, although a few older men joined them as well. The mortals brandished scythes and pitchforks and other weapons liberated from the late Baron Covash’s extensive farms and estate. Some balked at being converted into lycans—at least for the time being—but Lucian welcomed their loyalty nonetheless.
We need all the allies we can muster.
Wasting no time, he led them back to the clearing, where he was pleased to discover that the lycan camp was coming together. Canvas tarps, salvaged from neighboring villages, had been strung between the trees to form crude shelters. Skinned rabbits, squirrels, and other game were roasting over open campfires. Most of the lycans still preferred their meat raw, but Lucian had allowed Raze and the newer lycans to cook their food, provided the fires were put out well before nightfall. He did not want the smoke from the flames to attract their enemies once the Death Dealers were abroad once more. It would be necessary to post sentries as well, once the sun went down.
Viktor and his men shall not catch us sleeping, he vowed.
Feeling rather like Robin Hood, whose fabled exploits had reached even the Carpathian Mountains, Lucian inspected his growing band of rebels. Between the escaped prisoners and the new recruits, their ranks had swelled to more than thirty men. Wounded lycans had already recovered from their injuries. Many had fashioned crude staffs and cudgels from the raw timber.
