Empire of the Vampire

by Jay Kristoff

  “‘How do I fit into all this?’

  “Greyhand looked at me sidelong. A log cracked in the fire, a shower of sparks spilling into the dark. ‘What do you know of your father, Little Lion?’

  “‘He was a soldier. A scout in the armies of Phili—’

  “‘Not the man who raised you, boy. Your father.’

  “And I understood then. Realization like an avalanche. I knew why my papa’s fists had fallen only on me, not my sisters. What he meant when he said he’d raised a sin beneath his roof. My lips felt numb and swollen. The words too big to speak.

  “‘My father…’

  “‘Was a vampire.’

  “It was Aaron de Coste who’d spoken, staring at me now across the flames.

  “‘No,’ I breathed. ‘No … no, my mama would never…’

  “‘She’d hoped you were not his. They both did.’ Greyhand patted my knee, and something close to pity softened his gaze. ‘Fault her not, Little Lion. To eyes that cannot truly see, highbloods are beautiful. Powerful. Their minds can bend even the strongest will, and their mouths drip sweetest honey.’

  “I thought of Ilsa, helpless with passion as I drank her almost to death. I looked at that corpse hanging from the tree branch, and then down at my hands in absolute disgust.

  “‘I’m … like them?’

  “‘No, Peasant,’ de Coste said. ‘You’re like us.’

  “‘You are a halfbreed, boy,’ the frère said. ‘What we call a paleblood.”

  “I looked between the pair, saw that their skin was white as ghosts, just like mine.

  “‘The change comes upon us near manhood,’ Greyhand said. ‘And worsens yet with time. We inherit some of our fathers’ gifts. Strength. Speed. Other boons, depending on the bloodline they belonged to. But also, we inherit their thirst. The bloodlust that drives them to murder, and us to madness. We are products of sin, boy. Make no mistake, we are the accursed of God. And the only way we might recover his eternal grace and win a place in heaven for our damned souls is to fight and die for his Holy Church.’

  “‘This … Silver Order you spoke of?’

  “‘The Ordo Argent,’ Greyhand nodded. ‘We are the silver flame burning between humanity and the darkness. We hunt and kill those monsters that would devour the world of men. Faekin and fallen. Duskdancers and sorcerers. Risen and wretched. And oui, even highbloods. Once, vampires lived in the shadows. But now, the highbloods do not fear the sun. And the Forever King’s dark legion grows nightly. So we, the sons of their sin, must pay the burden of the cost. We shall stand, or all shall fall.’

  “‘So we … we’re supposed to fight this Forever King and his army?’

  “‘Armies fight armies. But Empress Isabella has convinced Emperor Alexandre he has need of a razor as well as a hammer. The Ordo Argent is that razor. We are a brotherhood with a hallowed tradition, but never before have we operated with royal patronage. The Emperor’s generals will lay their sieges and muster their lines. But we will strike the serpent’s head. We will slay the shepherds, and watch their sheep scatter.’

  “‘Assassins,’ I murmured.

  “‘No, boy. Hunters. Hunters with a divine mandate. Hunters of the most dangerous game.’ Greyhand looked back to the flames, the fire returning to his eyes. ‘We are hope for the hopeless. The fire in the night. We will walk the dark as they do, and they shall know our names and despair. For so long as they burn, we shall be flame. So long as they bleed, we shall be blades. So long as they sin, we shall be saints.’

  “Greyhand and de Coste both spoke then, their voices as one.

  “‘And we are silver.’

  “Frère Greyhand gazed into my wondering eyes. I felt his stare like a fist about my heart. Then he stood, returning to his prayers, as quiet as if he’d never spoken.

  “But he had spoken. And his words now filled my mind. I was afraid like I’d never been. Horrified at the truth of what I was. I’d just learned that my whole fucking life had been a lie. My father was not my father. Instead, I was the child of a monstrous sin, now growing like a cancer inside me. And yet, Aaron and Greyhand were sons of that same darkness, and they stood tall in defense of the Emperor, the Church, the Almighty Himself.

  “Brothers of the Silver Order of San Michon.

  “My mother had always spoken of the lion in my blood. But for the first time in my life, I could feel it waking. My sister had died at the hands of these coldbloods. And though I couldn’t save her then, I could avenge her now, and perhaps, redeem my damned soul besides. Though I was born of darkest sin, this seemed a salvation. And looking into those flames, I vowed that if I were to join these men, I’d be the best of them. The fiercest. The most faithful. That I’d not falter, not fail, not rest until every one of those monsters was sent back screaming to the hell that birthed them, and there, give my sister my love.”

  Gabriel sighed and shook his head.

  “I had no fucking idea what I was in for.”

  VI

  A MONASTERY IN THE SKY

  “WE ARRIVED AT San Michon on the last findi of the month, wreathed in snow-grey fog. Frère Greyhand led the way, Aaron de Coste came next, me on the saddle behind him. As I rode into the monastery’s shadow, I didn’t quite know what to feel. Fear of the sin inside me. Sorrow at all I’d left behind in Lorson. But in truth, what I felt most as I looked to the bluffs above was awe. Simple, jaw-dropping awe.

  “San Michon seemed born from a faerie tale. It was built in a valley along the Mère River, nestled among rocky black crags. Seven massive pillars of lichen-covered stone rose up like spears from the valley floor, as if left there by giants in the Age of Legends. The river flowed between the granite pillars it had carved, like a serpent of dark sapphire. And on those mighty pedestals, the monastery of San Michon awaited me.

  “At a nod from Greyhand, Aaron unslung a silver-trimmed horn and blew a long note through the valley. Bells answered above, butterflies dancing in my gut as we rode down mushroom-covered shale toward the central pillar. Its base was hollowed, the entrance sealed by iron gates wrought with the sevenstar. I caught a whiff of horse within, realizing the silversaints had built their stables inside.

  “Next to the gates, a broad wooden platform was being lowered on heavy iron chains. After handing over our horses to two young grooms, Master Greyhand slung his captured wretched over his shoulder, then strode to the elevator with Aaron and me on his heels. The platform swayed ominously as we rose a hundred, then two hundred feet off the valley floor. This high, I could see the Godsend Mountains to the northwest—that great spine of snowcapped granite splitting Nordlund from Talhost.

  “Archer circled us as we ascended, and I found myself hanging onto the rails with a white-knuckle grip. I’d never climbed anything so high. Instead of looking down, I turned my eyes up, to a place I thought could exist only in a children’s tale. A monastery in the sky.

  “‘Scared of heights, Peasant?’ Aaron sneered.

  “I glanced at the blond lad, my grip tightening. ‘Leave off, de Coste.’

  “‘You cling to that railing like to your mother’s tits.’

  “‘I’m actually picturing your mama’s tits. Though I’m told you favor your sister’s?’

  “Greyhand growled at us both to simmer down. De Coste kept his tongue behind his teeth, glaring at me the rest of the ride. But I couldn’t really bring myself to care. After three weeks of being treated like something Aaron had found smeared on his boot, I was finding this highborn prick’s company about as pleasant as a case of crotch lice.

  “Our platform creaked to a halt. To our left, a toothy fellow in black leathers manned the winch house. His hair was long and greasy, and I noted no silver on his hands.

  “‘Fairdawn, Keeper Logan,’ Greyhand nodded.

  “The thin man bowed, spoke in a heavy Ossway brogue. ‘Godmorrow, good Frère.’

  “Gazing down, I guessed we were near five hundred feet off the grey valley floor. Master Greyhand simply glowered at
me until I pried my fingers from the railing.

  “‘No fear, Little Lion.’

  “‘Not if I don’t look down,’ I said, trying to conjure a grin.

  “‘Look forward instead, boy.’

  “I dragged the windswept hair from my eyes and sighed. ‘Now there’s a sight…’

  “Before us loomed a cathedral—the first I’d ever seen in my life. Our tiny chapel in Lorson had seemed a palace to my young eyes, but this—this was a true house of God. A great circular fist of black granite with spires that bled the sky. In its courtyard stood a fountain of pale stone set with a ring of angels. Chiara, the blind Angel of Mercy. Raphael, Angel of Wisdom. Sanael, the Angel of Blood, and her twin, my namesake, Gabriel, Angel of Fire. The Cathedral’s stonework was crumbling, some of the windows boarded over, but still, I’d never seen anything so grand. Workmen crawled over it like ticks on a fallen log, and gargoyles grinned atop the eaves. Huge double doors were set in its east and west faces, and in the stone above the dawndoor was a magnificent window of stained glass.

  “It was fashioned like a sevenstar, each point depicting the tale of one of the Seven Martyrs: San Antoine parting the Eversea, San Cleyland guarding the gates to hell, San Guillaume burning the faithless on their pyres. And, of course, San Michon and her silver chalice, all flaxen hair and fierce eyes, staring into my very soul.

  “A man awaited us atop the eastern stairs, dressed in the greatcoat of a silversaint. He was Sūdhaemi born; his skin dark as polished mahogany, his eyes a pale green rimmed with kohl. He was older than Greyhand, black hair knotted in long, winding braids. A vicious horizontal scar cut deep through both cheeks, twisting his mouth into a permanent, humorless smirk, and there were beautiful silver tattoos atop his hands. He was broad-shouldered like my papa, but he radiated a gravitas that my papa and his fists never did.

  “This, I thought to myself, is a leader of men.

  “Greyhand bowed low before him, as did de Coste.

  “‘Welcome home, Brothers. We’ve missed you at mass.’ The mighty man turned to me, his voice deep as cello song. ‘And welcome to you also, young paleblood. My name is Khalid, High Abbot of the Ordo Argent. I know you have traveled long to be here. And this life may not be what you imagined for yourself. But it is your life now. You have been both blessed and accursed, called by Almighty God to this holy task. You must not shirk. You cannot fall. For if you do, so shall all we know and love.’

  “I bowed to him. I didn’t know what else to do. ‘Abbot.’

  “‘Until you take your vows as a full-blooded frère of the Order, you will look to your master for guidance. Initiates are not permitted to leave Barracks after evebells, nor may they visit the Great Library’s forbidden section. Duskmass will be held tonight, and you’ll have your maiden taste of silver. On the morrow, your training begins.’ Khalid glanced toward Greyhand. ‘If I might have a word, good Frère?’

  “‘By the Blood, Abbot. De Coste, show our Little Lion the grounds.’

  “‘By the Blood, Master.’ Aaron glanced at me and growled, ‘Follow.’

  “Leaving Greyhand and Khalid to confer, de Coste led me across one of the broad stone walkways. I realized all seven pillars must have been naturally connected once, but the hands of time had brought most of those bridges low, replaced now with long spans of rope and wood. Instead of looking to the dizzying fall, I gazed to the skyline, at the beautiful, ancient buildings around us and the men crawling the walls.

  “‘What are all the cranes for? The workmen?’

  “‘You will refer to me by the title of Initiate, Peasant,’ de Coste replied, not even looking at me. ‘When Frère Greyhand is absent, I am senior member of this company.’

  “I bit my tongue. I was well and truly sick of Aaron’s shit. But he did outrank me.

  “‘In answer to your question, the Silver Order has only recently gained patronage of Emperor Alexandre. This monastery stood for centuries before that, and for long years, these buildings were let run to rot. Not always have we enjoyed the favor we hold now.’

  “I chewed on that for a moment, gazing with a peasant boy’s eyes at the buildings about us. They were dark stone, grim and stately in design, arrayed on towering spires above the Mère Valley like the crowns of ancient kings. I wasn’t certain what I’d been expecting to find here among this hallowed order of monster slayers, but even run-down and crumbling, San Michon was the most wondrous place I’d ever been in my life.

  “Aaron motioned to the building behind us. ‘The Cathedral is the heart of San Michon. The brethren meet for mass twice daily, dusk and dawn. If you miss mass, you’ll find yourself missing testicles shortly after.’

  “De Coste waved northwest, at a many-windowed structure in modest repair.

  “‘The Barracks, where we lay our heads. The refectory is on its lower level, as are the privies and washhouse. Silversaints spend much of their lives on the Hunt, so I’d usually advise you to take advantage of the baths while you may. But I doubt a lowborn maggot like you would know a lump of soap if it hit you in the teeth.’

  “I rolled my eyes as de Coste nodded to the southmost structure—a circular building with blood-red banners embroidered with the sevenstar fluttering on the walls.

  “‘The Gauntlet. While staying in San Michon, you’ll spend much of your time training there. In the star, you’ll be taught bladework. Unarmed combat. Marksmanship. The Gauntlet is the furnace where silversaints are forged.’

  “My jaw clenched at that, and thinking of my sister, I nodded.

  “‘I’m ready.’

  “Aaron scoffed. ‘If you last more than two weeks in there, I’ll send a personal missive to the Grand Pontifex, proclaiming it a miracle.’ De Coste nodded to another building, round and roofless. ‘To the north is the Breadbasket. The kingdom of good Frère Alber. There, we keep our food stores and henhouses, the glasshome where we grow our herbs. To the northeast is the Priory, where the sisterhood sleep.’

  “‘… Sisterhood?’

  “Aaron sighed as if I were somehow supposed to know all this already. ‘The Silver Sorority of San Michon. Before our order found patronage in good Empress Isabella, it was their work keeping this entire monastery afloat.’

  “I saw small figures in long black habits walking out from that grand and gothic building. Their cloth fluttered in the mountain wind, lace veils whipping about their faces.

  “‘Are they palebloods like us?’ I asked.

  “‘There are no female palebloods. The Almighty saw fit to spare his daughters our curse. These sisters are godly women, devout in the One Faith and brides of the Almighty.’

  “‘I’d not expected to find nuns among an order of warrior brothers.’

  “‘Mmm.’ De Coste eyed me sidelong. ‘And you’ve spent a great deal of time among warrior brothers, Little Kitten?’

  “I blinked at that. ‘I—’

  “‘The Great Library.’ De Coste nodded to the sixth pillar, the beautiful hall of stained-glass windows and tall gables atop it. ‘One of the finest collections of lore and learning in the empire. There is a forbidden section within, and if Archivist Adamo catches you even looking at it, he’ll skin your hide and use it for book binding. I’d normally recommend you investigate the general shelves in your free time, but I doubt you can actually read.’

  “‘I can read fine,’ I scowled. ‘My mama taught me.’

  “‘Then I’ll be sure to send you a letter when I start giving a damn.’ Aaron waved back at the Library. ‘Books are kept on the lower level, and the Silver Sisters work in the bindery above. Along with the Brothers of the Hearth, they create the most beautiful tomes in the empire.’ He raised his hand to interrupt my question. ‘There are two castes within the Ordo Argent. The Brothers of the Hunt are palebloods like me and Greyhand, men who get their hands dirty stalking horrors in the dark. The Brothers of the Hearth are simple men of faith who keep the Library, craft our weaponry and … other tools. Speaking of…’

  “De
Coste pointed at a sprawling building ahead. It had few windows, but many chimneys. They all spat black smoke, save one, which trailed a thin finger of red fumes.

  “‘The Armory.’ Aaron squared his shoulders and smoothed back his thick blond hair. ‘Follow. You’ll want to see this.’

  “‘Wait,’ I said. ‘What is that?’

  “I pointed to a stone span jutting out from the Cathedral’s pillar. It seemed a bridge, save that it led nowhere at all, ending in a balcony without a railing and a plunge down into the river Mère. A large chariot wheel sat at the edge, locked in a stone frame—the same kind of wheel the Redeemer had been flayed upon, and that now graced the necks of every priest and holy sister in the realm.

  “‘That,’ Aaron said, ‘is Heaven’s Bridge.’

  “‘What’s it for?’

  “The young lordling clenched his jaw. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

  “De Coste turned on silver heels and marched to the Armory. Pushing open great double doors wrought with the sevenstar, he led me into the vast entrance hall. And there, I breathed a sigh of wonder.

  “The space was lit by myriad glass spheres suspended from the ceiling. I knew not how, but each glowed like a burning candle. It was as if the long-lost stars of my youth had come back to the sky, bathing the hall in honeyed light. And looking about, I saw that warm glow playing on a multitude of weapons, lined up in vast racks along the walls.

  “I could see swords like the ones Greyhand and de Coste carried, the steel run through with traceries of silver. Longblades, bastard swords, axes, and warhammers. But there were stranger weapons too—the kind I’d only heard whisper of. Wheellock pistols and rifles and pepperboxes, wrought of beautiful metal and engraved with scripture.

  “I AM THE SWORD THAT LAYS THE SINNER LOW. I AM THE HAND THAT LIFTS THE FAITHFUL HIGH. AND I AM THE SCALE THAT WEIGHS BOTH IN THE ENDING. SO SAY’TH THE LORD.

  “If I was in love with the monastery before that moment, now I was utterly smitten. I’d been raised the son of both a blacksmith and a soldier, remember. I’d been drilled hard in use of a blade, but I also knew the art of making weapons this beautiful. The smiths who worked this armory were geniuses …