by Jay Kristoff
“‘Indeed. Of all the prey that silversaints stalk, coldbloods are perhaps the most dangerous. You must be cunning and cautious in pursuit of the Dead. They surely didn’t survive for centuries by being less so. Mistake not stupidity for courage. Do not be fear’s slave, but its friend. Look. Think. Then act.’
“‘Don’t be a dumb fuck,’ I murmured.
“Greyhand parried Aaron’s charge, smashed his blade aside, and punched him full in the face, sending the lordling onto his backside. Turning, he stalked across the frozen ground back toward me. ‘Since you’re feeling talkative, de León, recite Law the Second.’
“I ducked below the sweep of his blade, skipped backward toward the fire. ‘Dead tongues heeded are Dead tongues tasted, Master.’
“‘And what does that mean?’
“‘Listen to nothing they say.’
“Greyhand feinted, and like a fool, I took the bait. Swift as a serpent, he struck at my swordarm, opening up my bicep to the bone. I cried out, felt my legs swept out from under me, crashing onto the muddy ground.
“‘Very good, Little Lion,’ Greyhand said. ‘All highbloods can bend the minds of men. Their gaze can mesmerize, their words are ironclad commands to the weak-willed. Especially the Blood Ilon. But moreover, their currency is deceit. Coldbloods are foxes and serpents all. Listen not to a word these bastards hiss, lest you find yourself their meal.’
“I rose from the ground and Greyhand met my strike, pale green eyes flashing. We exchanged a flurry of blows, firelight dancing on steel. Fast as a hummingfly’s wings, Greyhand buried his pommel into my stomach so hard I almost puked. And with a savage uppercut from his hilt, I was sent flying in a spray of blood and spit.
“‘Now, young Lord de Coste. Law the Third?’
“Aaron dodged Greyhand’s strike, parried another. ‘The Dead run quick, Master.’
“‘I know you can speak by rote, boy. What do you think?’
“Aaron struck back, opening up a thin line of red along Greyhand’s chest. ‘Our enemy runs quick.’ The lordling twirled his blade in triumph. ‘Quicker than we do.’
“‘Excellent.’ Greyhand ran his fingers through his blood and smiled. ‘Mark this one well, Initiates. Your enemy is stronger than you are. Faster. More resilient. A single wretched is a match for a dozen men. An ancien highblood can break your bones with a touch, and move fast as winter wind. You have weapons and training to even the scale. But underestimate this foe, and you die.’
“Again, Greyhand lunged, but this time, twice as fast and sure. Aaron moved too slow, and with expression unchanged, Greyhand thrust his sword through the lordling’s belly and right out through his back. Aaron gasped as Greyhand twisted the blade loose and dropped him groaning to the floor.
“‘Law the Fourth,’ Greyhand said, turning to me. ‘The Dead feel as beasts, look as men, die as devils. What does it mean?’
“I raised my sword in my off-hand, heart hammering. ‘They’re … complicated.’
“Greyhand came at me like a thunderbolt. I recognized his patterns from the Gauntlet, countering with my own. I came close to spitting the bastard, too. But then he smashed my blade aside and drove his sword through me so hard I was pinned to the tree behind me. Moaning in agony, I clutched the five feet of steel now skewered through my chest as Greyhand wandered back to the fire to check on dinner.
“‘Complicated, oui,’ he mused, stirring the steaming pot. ‘But in many ways, coldbloods are at root, the same. Oh, they may act as men. But you need only starve one for a night or two to discover what lies under the silken finery and cherry lips. A mortal man will fight with all he has to protect his famille. But I swear by Almighty God and all the host of heaven, you’ve not seen true fury until you’ve witnessed the jealous rage with which these devils fight to preserve their own lives.’
“Aaron had picked himself up, bloody drool leaking from his mouth. His face was paler than usual, blond hair plastered to red cheeks. But Greyhand held up a hand.
“‘Nono, it’s almost ready. Help de León.’
“De Coste gave a weary nod. Thrusting his training blade into the muddy ground, he trudged around the fire to assist me. I had both bloodied hands wrapped around Greyhand’s sword, trying to drag it free from the tree he’d spitted me upon.
“‘You forgot Law the F-fifth, Master,’ I groaned.
“Greyhand took a sip from his iron ladle, smacked his lips. ‘Needs salt.’
“Aaron took hold of the sword embedded in my chest, giving me a sadistic smile. ‘Even the Dead have laws.’
“‘Even the Dead have laws,’ Greyhand nodded, sprinkling the pot with a fingerful of seasoning. ‘This is the simplest, Initiates, and most comforting. For even though these monsters are spat straight from hell’s maw, they are still governed by rules. They can cross no rivers save at bridges, nor enter a dwelling without invitation. They cannot set foot upon sanctified ground, nor bear the sight of sacred icons wielded by a person of pure faith. They have weaknesses, is the point. Weaknesses you will learn to exploit.’
“I tried not to cry out as de Coste wrenched the blade loose. Falling to my knees, I pressed hard to stanch the blood, the chest wound bubbling as I breathed.
“‘De León, being headstrong isn’t a boon in combat, it just means you’re easy to fake,’ Greyhand declared. ‘This is swordplay, not loveplay. Don’t go where your partner leads you, go where you need to be.’
“‘Oui, Master,’ I groaned, dragging my knuckles across my bloody chin.
“‘De Coste, your feint announces its approach from two provinces over, and you’re too cocky by half. Don’t start celebrating ’til your quarry is in the damned ground.’
“‘Understood, Master,’ the lordling said, spitting more red.
“‘Good. Now come eat while it’s hot.’”
Jean-François was staring at Gabriel, his expression somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “This was how your master trained you in bladework?”
Gabriel shrugged. “It wasn’t like he was doing any permanent damage. We were palebloods, and our sparring blades were ordinary steel. The flesh wounds would be gone in an hour. Even the worst of it would heal by dawn. But the pain, that was real. You want to teach someone a lesson about keeping their guard high, stab them in the baps a few times, they’ll get the message.
“Bruised and bloodied, we settled down around the fire. Greyhand said the godthanks as always, and I served the meal while Archer watched from the branches above. Dinner was mushroom ragout, one of our master’s favorites. He wasn’t the finest cook in the empire, but all I could taste was my own blood anyway.
“The brief summer was done, and winter’s bite was in the wind. I could barely recall the springs of my youth, all the world cloaked in flowers. I remembered my sister Amélie weaving wreaths for Mama’s hair when were children. Celene and I running in green fields. But snow fell six months of the year now, and all the land seemed soaked in gloom and the smell of brimstone. Miserable leaves clung to the branches of failing trees, slowly being overgrown with a new luminous fungus called maryswort. The chill cut to the bone. The river’s song was distant, muffled, and a thought struck me as we ate, brought on by Greyhand’s talk of Law the Fifth.
“‘Master? What happens when the rivers freeze?’
“De Coste scoffed, holding his wounded belly. ‘Aside from the obvious?’
“‘Must you be a sour-tongued prick all your life? I’m talking about the armies of the Forever King. If coldbloods can’t cross running water, but rivers freeze…’
“‘You’ve the truth of it, Little Lion,’ Greyhand said. ‘Wintersdeep is not our friend. In summer, the Emperor’s generals can guard bridges against the Forever King’s host. Stop him crossing, or at least force a battle of their choosing. But when the freeze sets in again…’
“‘Voss can cross wherever he likes,’ I murmured.
“‘So we fear,’ Greyhand nodded, stirring his bowl.
“‘How long unti
l he marches?’
“‘We know not. Scouting in those freezing wilds is difficult, but we’ve had no word out of Talhost in months. The region is surely a wasteland by now. The Forever King likely waits in Vellene upon his corpse throne for the freeze to begin, yet it’s only a matter of time before he pushes east to feed his legion. But still, we have advantage.’ Greyhand nodded to the snowcapped peaks above. ‘There are only two places he can strike, after all.’
“I looked to the dark silhouettes of the mountain range around us, listening to the wind howl among its reaches. In times past, that great spine of granite marked the edge of Nordish civilization, and the beginning of the untamed lands of Talhost to the west. Hence its name: the Godsend. Each mountain in the range was named for an angel of the heavenly host. The peak above us was Eirene, Angel of Hope. The range stretched the entire northwest edge of the Nordlund, and there were only two natural gateways into the east. Two choke points guarded by two of the mightiest fortresses in the realm.
“‘Avinbourg in the north,’ de Coste murmured. ‘Or Charinfel in the south.’
“Greyhand nodded. ‘Those two cityforts have guarded the Nordlund’s flank since the Wars of the Faith. And Voss must take one of them if he wishes to take the empire. We know not which he’ll strike, but one thing is certain. When the rivers freeze, his hammer falls.’
“Greyhand looked to the darkened skies, his mood growing fey.
“‘Is it true what you told me, Master?’ I asked. ‘About the attack on Vellene?’
“‘’Tis true,’ Greyhand nodded, his voice grim. ‘Voss took the city and slaughtered all within the walls. It’s said one of his heirs, the beast Danton, murdered every virgin maid in Vellene with his own hand. The dark twins Alba and Aléne set the grand cathedral ablaze with a thousand or more people inside, murdering anyone who fled the flames. And Fabién’s youngest daughter, Laure, gathered all the newborn babes in Vellene, filled the fountain in the market square with their blood, and bathed in it.’
“My stomach did a slow, sickening turn inside me.
“‘Laure Voss,’ Aaron murmured. ‘The Wraith in Red.’
“‘An abomination made flesh,’ Greyhand spat. ‘But it’s not for their brutality that the Forever King’s brood should be feared. Nor the legend that Fabién himself cannot be slain by any warrior of woman born. No, the true reason to fear Voss is his ambition. In nights before daysdeath, to beget a wretched was considered an embarrassment among kith society. But it was Voss who first thought to forge the wretched’s growing numbers into an army. It was Voss who foresaw a way vampires might conquer this empire.’
“Greyhand set aside his bowl, stared up into black skies.
“‘But that’s not the darkest part of it, lads. Kith are hateful and solitary creatures. Territorial. Vindictive. But the Voss are famille. Fabién has seven highblood descendants that we know of. And though creatures so soulless as they are incapable of true love, it can be said of all the world, Voss’s children hate each other the least. Their unholy father calls them the Princes of Forever. Abbot Khalid says they are the deadliest creatures that walk on God’s own earth. But no matter the name by which you call them, strike at one, you strike at seven. And their unholy father besides.’
“Greyhand looked among us again, his voice as cold as stone.
“‘So we will have to kill them all.’”
III
HUNTERS AND PREY
“THE TOWN OF Skyefall crouched on a hillside of black stone, wreathed in grey mist. As wealthy as a priest after the collection plate has been passed around, and as strange as the idea that the creator of heaven and earth needs the money in the first place. For a boy who’d grown up in a mud puddle like Lorson, it seemed the grandest metropolis. But riding into its shadow on that cold winter day, I’d no notion of the horrors we’d find there.
“Skyefall’s fortune had been made in silver. Only eleven months had passed since the Forever King decimated Vellene, and back in those days, it still wasn’t well known just how important that noble metal would be in future nights. Rumor had begun spreading, of course, dribbled from the lips of drunken prophets or screamed by wandering lunatics. But the gentry of Skyefall paid little heed to hearsay about Dead armies massing to the west, or coldbloods stalking freely along the hamlet roads.
“They were rich. God had clearly blessed them. And that was enough.
“Skyefall’s streets were cobbled, her cathedral marbled and gilt. The architecture was baroque and gothic—all grand spires and stairways leading who knew where. But as our company plodded through her gates, I felt a shadow on that town. She was built on a granite slope, winding roads and grey buildings looming on all sides. Fog hung heavy in her streets, and her walls were decorated with reliefs of flowers that hadn’t grown since the sunlight failed. In the town square stood a crow-pecked gibbet with a rotting skeleton inside—WITCH, the sign assured us. Streetwalkers with scabbed knees stood at lonely alley mouths, and miners with filthied faces staggered through the streets, sullen and drunk.
“The air hung chill. Damp. And far too quiet.
“I knew not what, but something in this place felt wrong.
“Justice was ever a rock beneath me, his head held high as he steamed and stomped. But as we rode up Skyefall’s twisting streets, the roads grew too narrow and the stairs too treacherous. Eventually, we were forced to leave our mounts behind at a communal stable and continue on foot through the haze, up toward the noble quarter above the town.
“Greyhand marched in front, de Coste came next, and me last of all, my silver heels ringing on the stones. Local folk watched as we passed by their doors and windows, some with awe, some with fear. And yet …
“‘They all stare at us, Master,’ I murmured.
“‘Such is the curse in our veins,’ Greyhand replied. ‘And it shall only deepen as you grow older. Folk are drawn to the dark within us, Little Lion, just as they are drawn to the coldbloods who made us.’ He looked at me sidelong. ‘Surely you noticed it, even as a boy?’
“I thought of the girls in my village then. Their eyes following as I passed by. Their kisses given so freely. But had they been given to me? Or this thing inside me?
“‘Oui,’ I muttered. ‘Perhaps.’
“‘As we grow older, so too do we sink deeper into our curse and the power it gifts us.’ Greyhand nodded to the townsfolk. ‘Yet always, regular folk will smell something of the predator beneath your skin, de León. Some shall hate you for it. Others adore you. None will ignore you. A wolf cannot long hide among sheep. But Almighty God knows who we truly are. And our service to his holy church shall be rewarded in the kingdom of heaven.’
“I took comfort in that. Buoyed by the notion that, though I was accursed, though I still didn’t truly understand what I was or was becoming, all this was the will of the Almighty above. And through him, I would find salvation.
“‘Véris,’ Aaron and I replied, making the sign of the wheel.
“Our master strode over a long, cobbled bridge and onto an avenue of fine estates. Lanterns on wrought iron posts lit up the fog about us. The houses we passed seemed like strangers’ faces, their windows, sightless eyes.
“‘When we arrive, say nothing,’ Greyhand warned. ‘If there is a coldblood at work in this place, some of these townsfolk may be thralls. Mortal servants of the enemy.’
“I blinked at that. ‘You mean people willingly serve these devils?’
“‘Cows,’ Aaron growled. ‘Cows praying for the night they might become butchers.’
“‘But why would folk submit to such devilry?’ I wondered. ‘Coldbloods can’t choose who they turn. It’s not as if immortality can be offered as a reward.’
“Greyhand scowled. ‘It might surprise you, de León, what some folk would risk for even a chance to live forever. Coldbloods truck in temptation. Their power is in darkness. Their power is in fear. But most of all, their power is in desire. Drinking the blood of ancien can slow mortal aging, and u
ndo wounds that would send any man to his grave. But moreover, the act itself is addictive. Drink from the same vampire on three separate nights, and you will be enthralled. Helpless to resist its commands. In every sense, a slave.’ He patted the pipe in his pocket. ‘Hence we smoke a distillation of it, rather than drink it.’
“We came to a halt outside the walls of a grand estate. Archer circled in sullen skies above, keeping a watchful eye on his master. The frère pulled down his high collar and breathed deep. ‘This town reeks of sin.’
“I watched my master from the corner of my eye. Though Greyhand was dour and cruel, still I’d grown to admire him over the last seven months. He beat his back bloody at prayer every night. He read to us from the Testaments for an hour every morn. His devotion was a beacon, his faith a bright comfort. And though I was frailblood, he didn’t judge me for it. He was as like to a father as I’d ever known, and I wanted to make him proud.
“De Coste rang an iron bell at the gate. Him, I admired far less. I had to admit he worked hard—even with his talk of San Michon not making a difference, Aaron still seemed to believe in what we were doing. And yet, he treated me like common shite. In seven months, he’d not called me by my name once.
“Hard worker or no, I hated his fucking guts.
“From the look, the house before us was the grandest in Skyefall. The grounds might once have been bright with greenery, but now, only fungus grew at the feet of withered fruit trees. A magnificent mansion loomed in the estate’s heart, all graven pillars and shuttered windows. Fog hung heavy on the grounds.
“A short fellow in a fine coat and powdered wig strode through the mist toward us, lantern in hand. He stopped behind the gate, looked us over.
“‘This is the house of Alane de Blanchet, Alderman of Skyefall?’ Greyhand asked.
“‘I am his humble servant. Who might you be, monsieur?’
“Greyhand took out his vellum scroll. The servant’s eyes widened as he saw that blob of blood-red wax, embossed with a unicorn and five crossed swords: the seal of Alexandre III, Benefactor of the Order of San Michon, Emperor of the Realm and Chosen of God Himself.