Empire of the Vampire

by Jay Kristoff

  “‘Good luck, girl. Should’ve g-given you a better name…’

  “Chloe hauled me backward, hacking with her silversteel. I followed, gasping, swinging Ashdrinker and taking a wretched head off its shoulders, slicing another’s hands free of its arms, and with a twist, splitting its torso from its hips.

  “I stumbled, pushing Chloe away from me. ‘Get to the cathedral!’

  “I hurled my last ignis bomb at the gate, rewarded with a deep roar as the spirit-soaked stones caught fire. Chloe joined Rafa in dragging a bleeding, blood-soaked Bellamy toward the doors for the dead. The young soothsinger was holding his torn throat, whispering, ‘I … I will not … will n-not go to my…’

  “‘Phoebe!’ I roared. ‘Get BACK!’

  “But the lioness paid me no heed, moving in a blood-red blur along the westwalk. Danton lifted his head from Saoirse’s ruins, drenched in the slayer’s blood. Reaching up, he tore Kindness from his shattered shoulder, the axe wicked-sharp and beautiful in his hand. And as Phoebe leapt at him, bloody claws and fangs bared, the Beast of Vellene hurled that axe with all his unholy strength.

  “The blade sheared through the air, wooshing as it came, everknots gleaming upon the bloodstained steel as it tumbled over and over and slammed into Phoebe’s chest. The she-lion roared and spun midair, crashing to the boards, a long trail of gleaming gore in her wake as she skidded along the highwalk.

  “‘Oh, shit…’ I whispered.

  “The lioness came to rest at Danton’s feet, her mistress’s axe buried in her ribs. She tried to rise, claws scrabbling at the polished tip of Danton’s boot. The Beast of Vellene seized the lioness by her throat, hauled her up to dangle, limp and twitching before him. And with casual brutality, he wrenched Kindness free in a gout of blood and flung the fated blade off the cliff at his back. And raising Phoebe high into the air, he hurled the lioness into the courtyard below, her body shattering on the stone.

  “I could barely walk, arm and ribs broken, guts hanging from the slice in my belly. Rafa and Chloe dragged Bellamy through the doors for the dead, me behind, all Danton’s wretched on our tails just as we planned. I could smell sharp vapor, praying Dior was ready for our little maggot trap. Staggering against the cathedral doors, I turned to watch as Danton leapt down from the walls, soaked in Saoirse’s and Phoebe’s endings.

  “He smiled at me, black eyes in a mask of crimson.

  “‘Fool ye must think me, de León, to fall for so simple a ploy.’

  “He lifted a hand, like a conductor before some unholy orchestra. And at his unspoken command, the wretched veered away from our pursuit. Instead of following us mindless through the western entrance, they surged eastward, toward the dawndoors. Smashing against them now, timbers splintering as they spilled inside; a starving, clawing flood of dead meat rushing into the tight corridor beyond.

  “And Dior Lachance stood at the end of it, a lit cigarelle in hand.

  “‘Bonsoir, maggots,’ he whispered.

  “The boy flicked the smoke into the liquor-soaked still and slammed the door behind him. Vapor exploded, white-hot and roaring through the corridor. The cathedral doors were blown inward, Dior thrown to the stone as a long gout of flame scorched the air over his head, burning corpses flailing, falling. Incinerating Danton’s wretched in an instant.”

  Gabriel leaned back and cracked his knuckles.

  “Just as I planned.”

  Jean-François ceased his writing, raised one eyebrow.

  “You said the western corridor was the one set to burn.”

  “That’s what I told the others.” Gabriel shrugged. “You don’t live for centuries by charging in blind. I knew Danton would get inside one of their heads before he struck us. But the ability to read minds isn’t so useful when those minds have been filled with lies. So, save for Dior, I told my comrades what I wanted my enemy to think.”

  The historian tapped his lip, gave a grudging nod. “Rather clever, de León.”

  “Danton didn’t think so. The Beast of Vellene roared in rage, fangs bared as he stalked across the courtyard. His forces were in charred tatters, but the prince himself was barely scathed. And though Ashdrinker hung bloodied in my hand, I’d nothing left inside.

  “Back, Gabriel. B-back now back back back now.

  “And so I turned, and staggered into the cathedral’s belly.

  “It was circular, surrounded by pews, a stone altar at its heart. Stained-glass windows ringed the space, only a few inches wide, save one—a lifesize portrait of San Guillaume in the northern wall, tome in one hand, burning torch in the other. Rafa, Chloe, and Dior were knelt around Bellamy, the boy’s hands soaked with blood. The soothsinger’s throat and wrists and thighs were all torn, Dior pressing red hands to the wounds.

  “‘Bel?’ he pleaded. ‘BELLAMY!’

  “The soothsinger’s eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. And though the Redeemer’s blood had saved him once before—might bring a soul back from the very edge of death, in fact—that same blood seemed of little use once the soul had flown. And looking into Bellamy’s empty eyes, I knew.

  “‘No,’ Chloe whispered. ‘No…’

  “‘Rafa,’ I gasped, staggering into the room.

  “‘Oh, God,’ he breathed, looking over my shoulder.

  “Danton stood behind me, swathed in shadow. The priest rose to his feet, face grim and spattered with blood. And though he stood years past sixty, his back bent and skin wrinkled, Rafa seemed a fucking giant then. Beyond the faith in him, I saw fury, burning like heaven’s fire as he raised the wheel in his hand. Light flared, silver-bright, and I staggered past the priest, falling to my knees in a puddle of Bellamy’s blood. The thirst roared within me, and for a moment, just for a second, it was all I could do not to press my face to the stone and lap it up, like a beggar to bread crumbs.

  “Dior rose up from Bellamy’s corpse, spitting at Danton. ‘You fucking bastard!’

  “The boy took a step forward, held in check by a desperate Chloe. ‘Dior, no!’

  “The Beast of Vellene loomed before us, backlit by the glow of burning corpses. Old Rafa stood tall, dauntless, bathed in the power of his god. They watched each other, priest and vampire, light and dark, flame and shadow, each the other’s match.

  “‘Impasse,’ Danton breathed.

  “‘To a fool’s eyes,’ Rafa replied. ‘And you certainly have those.’

  “The vampire smiled, red and sensuous. All I could see of him was his face, vulpine, that black widow’s peak swept back from his brow, and his hands, ghost-pale and bloodstained as he reached up and straightened the cravat at his throat.

  “‘I see them in thy mind, priest. With these fool’s eyes.’

  “Rafa refused to answer, standing with his wheel burning before him. But Danton drifted around the edge of the glow, like a hungry wolf circling ancient firelight.

  “‘All those dead brothers,’ he whispered. ‘Alfonse and Jean-Paul. Old Tariq and little Jamal. Flayed and left for the crows. If thou hadst not set out in search of the Grail, if thou hadst but stayed here among thy little books, thy tiny words, the Inquisition would never have been unleashed upon thy brethren.’

  “The vampire sighed sadly.

  “‘They are dead because of thee.’

  “But the old man shook his head, defiant. ‘Speak not their names. Speak not a word to me. I am deaf to all but the voice of the Lord our God. I am his hand upon this earth, and my faith in his love shall waver not an inch at the deceits of a wretched worm like you.’

  “The priest stepped forward, and I watched in wonder as Danton wavered.

  “‘Go back,’ Rafa spat, his voice rich with righteous fury. ‘Go back to the abyss that suckled you, to the loveless father that birthed you, and tell him he may send a hundred sons to test me and I shall best them all. The Lord is my shield unbreakable. He is the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins. And you have no power over me.’

  “The Beast of Vellene narrowed his eyes, slicked
back his hair with one bloody hand.

  “‘Thou hast nothing to fear from me, priest?’

  “‘Nothing at all, vampire.’

  “Danton smiled then, dark and poisonous. ‘Then cast thy wheel aside.’

  “Rafa blinked. His gaze shifting from the monster before him to the holy circle burning in his hand. I looked between them, bleeding, broken, dread uncoiling in my belly.

  “‘Rafa…’ I whispered.

  “‘The Lord is thy shield unbreakable?’ Danton hissed. ‘Surely then, he will not allow a wretched worm to touch thee? So throw it aside, priest. Face me upon even ground. Show me true power. Show me a god who will not let his beloved servant die.’

  “‘Oh, Mothermaid…’ Chloe breathed.

  “Rafa glanced back to the sister, eyes meeting hers. And then and there, the old priest made his mistake. If he had done it—if he’d cast that wheel away and stood undaunted, unafraid, I’ve no doubt in my mind Danton would have broken like glass. The wheel was just a thing. It was Rafa’s faith that mattered.

  “But the priest hesitated. He doubted. He feared.

  “And the glow in the wheel began to die.

  “Just a flicker at first, like a shadow across the black sun. But the priest’s eyes grew wide. A tremor passed through his hand. And he looked up to the vampire and saw him, not cowering now, but standing tall, a hungry smile on ruby lips.

  “‘Stay back!’ Rafa cried. ‘In the name of God, I command you!’

  “And hollow, drenched in blood, Danton threw back his head and laughed. The vampire took one step forward, and Rafa one step back, and with each step, the light in that wheel dimmed further and further still. Chloe moaned in terror, Dior cursing softly as that pale light died. And my heart sank as I saw the last of our hope die with it.

  “The Beast of Vellene reached out and closed long, clawed fingers around the wheel in Rafa’s hand. Pale flesh sizzling on silver, Danton closed his fist, and the metal crumpled. Rafa opened his mouth, perhaps to pray, perhaps to curse, but the Beast’s other hand snaked out, seizing the priest’s shoulder, and as Rafa cried, ‘Save me, God!’ the vampire opened his maw and sank his fangs deep into the holy man’s throat.

  “‘Rafa!’ Chloe screamed, and ‘NO!’ Dior roared, and mouth filled with blood, teeth gritted, I dragged myself to my feet. Our last bastion had fallen, the priest groaning as the kiss took hold, lifting his arms and throwing them, like a drowning man to driftwood, about the shoulders of the thing that was murdering him. Chloe raised her silversteel, screaming in rage, but I grabbed her, stopped her from throwing herself onto that same pyre.

  “‘Chloe, he’ll kill you!’

  “I looked about us, to San Guillaume’s window in the wall behind us, and with the arm that still worked, I hurled Ashdrinker, shattering the glass to splinters.

  “‘Go!’

  “Dior grabbed Chloe, dragging the sister away, me limping behind. The boy scrambled through the window, pulling Chloe through, and I left a trail of blood as I hauled myself after them, shredding my skin. Chloe was gasping for breath, eyes wide with terror and madness as I picked up Ashdrinker …

  “FLY, GABRIEL!

  “… and slipped the blade back into her scabbard. We had nowhere to run, yet I grabbed Chloe’s hand and run we did, dragging Dior away from the broken window where Danton now stood, drenched in Saoirse’s and Phoebe’s and Rafa’s blood.

  “‘I told thee I could follow forever, de León!’

  “We backed up the stairs to the monastery walls, the highwalk running the edge of the cliffs. The drop loomed behind us, jagged rocks like teeth, a hundred and fifty feet down into lightless black. Danton was on the stairs now, smiling, a single breath away.

  “‘W-we have to,’ Chloe whispered.

  “‘It’s too high,’ the boy breathed. ‘The rocks … I can’t swim!’

  “I gritted my teeth. ‘Take my hand, boy.’

  “And gripping tight, wincing in agony as Chloe seized my broken wrist, I dragged them both up onto the battlements. The dark opened its arms below us, Dior’s eyes wide with terror, Danton coming at us like a black wind. Kicking off the railing, I jumped far as I could, Chloe holding one hand, Dior the other. Out into the windswept night, weightlessness and vertigo, the scream rising in Chloe’s throat suddenly cut short as a pale hand reached into the brink and seized the collar of Dior’s fine magik frockcoat.

  “The boy wailed as Danton’s fist closed tight, jerking us to a halt. I roared in agony, wounds tearing, broken bones grinding. Chloe shrieked, both our hands slicked with blood. My muscles screamed as we hung, suspended in a chain, Chloe holding onto me, me onto Dior, and Danton onto us all. My hands were full—there was naught I could do as, with a triumphant smile and the strength of bloody centuries, the Beast hauled us back up.

  “In a second, he’d have us.

  “In a second, it’d be over, everything for nothing.

  “And in that second, Chloe looked up into my eyes. Burning with familiar fire.

  “‘Dior is all that matters, Gabe.’

  “And letting go of my hand, she plunged down into the dark.

  “‘CHLOE!’ Dior roared.

  “No time to think. No time to mourn. Time only to reach up, broken hand and bloody fangs, taking hold of that ridiculous coat and the waistcoat and shirt underneath and seizing a fistful, agony flaring down my shattered arm as I ripped seam and thread, silvered buttons spinning into the night as, magik or no, the coat slipped away from his arms, my weight dragged him down, Danton spitting a black curse as he staggered back, left only with a torn coat of midnight-blue and silver curlicue in hand.

  “Rushing wind in my ears.

  “A screaming boy in my arms.

  “And down, down into the dark, we fell.”

  XVI

  THE ONE THING

  “WHEN I WAS a lad, I used to play a game with my sisters, Amélie and Celene. It was named Elements. You close your hand, count one, two, three, then form your hand into a shape. Fist for wood. Fingers upturned for fire. Flat palm for water. Water beat fire. Fire beat wood. Wood beat water. Having fallen a hundred and fifty feet into it, it’s now my official position that water beats just about anything.

  “It felt like stone as we hit it. I’ve been punched by ancien of the Blood Dyvok, taken silverbomb explosions to the chest, been inside a chymical still as the mad bastard who ran it blew it sky-high, and I tell you now, I’ve never felt anything like it. If I were an ordinary man, I’d have been dead. Story finished. Song sung. But broken and bleeding as I was, I was still paleblood, and like old Master Greyhand used to assure me as he cut me to ribbons every night at spar, palebloods don’t die easy. The impact was deafening, rocking my brain inside my skull, turning black to blinding white. I lost consciousness, I’m sure of it. But only for a second. The cold snapped me back into my body like a bowstring.

  “All was freezing black, above and below. But as I opened my eyes, tumbling in the water, I saw him. Ashen hair adrift around his face, hanging limp as a boned fish. And hurting as I was, still I lunged, slipping my good arm around his waist and kicking desperately, piercing the surface with a ragged, bruised-bone gasp.

  “‘Lachance?’ I roared. ‘Lachance!’

  “He made no reply, eyes closed, head lolling on his neck. But miraculously, somehow, he was breathing. I looked around, desperate, bellowing over the river’s rush.

  “‘CHLOE!’

  “No sound. No sign. Nothing. If I dove below to look for her, the boy in my arms would drown. And if we stayed in this water, he’d freeze along with it. And so, roaring her name one last time, eyes burning, I held Dior tight and swam north across the Volta, broken arm trailing at my side. Away from those cliffs above, the slaughterhouse of San Guillaume, the poor wretches Danton had butchered. I’d warned them all, Chloe too, but still, I had to push it from my mind. The sight of Saoirse being ripped ear to ear. Bellamy’s eyes wide open, blinded forever. And Rafa. That poor bastard. Dying wi
th Danton’s mouth on his throat and the name of the God that had failed him on his lips.

  “I swam, bloody water behind me, every muscle screaming. My only solace was a familiar weight on my hip; Ashdrinker, slapping my leg as I kicked toward the shoreline. I’d lost them all, but I’d kept my sword at least. And as a sodden cough wracked his frame and a feeble groan spilled over purpling lips, I knew I still had …

  “‘Lachance.’

  “He groaned again, near senseless.

  “‘Hold on to me, boy.’

  “His eyelids were heavy, and he clung weakly to the arm I’d wrapped around his chest. But though I could tell he was terrified of the water about him, though he knew if I were to let him go, he’d sink like a stone, even with the cold, he didn’t tremble.

  “Whatever else, Dior Lachance was never a coward.

  “We reached the shallows, and I found my footing, slinging the lad over my shoulder. He was still senseless from the fall, ash-white hair hanging lank over his face. I’d ripped every scrap of clothing off him from the waist up to free him from Danton’s clutches, and I knew the little bastard would freeze soon enough. So, staggering up the wooded bank, I thumped him against an old rotted tree, and wincing at my still-shattered wrist, I shrugged my greatcoat off my shoulders.

  “And then, I saw it.

  “The one thing that would change everything.

  “Dior was coatless and shirtless. But not entirely naked. Chloe’s bandage was still around his throat, but another bandage was wrapped about his chest, many times over. At first, I thought the boy might have been wounded; the bandage some holdover from an older battle. But then, beneath the wrappings, I saw it. Saw them. Bound uncomfortably tight, but unmistakable.”

  Jean-François blinked, glancing up from his tome and snapping his fingers.

  “Breasts.”

  “Oui,” Gabriel nodded.

  Jean-François smiled all the way to his dark eyes, and clapped as if delighted. “Dior is a girl’s name as well as a boy’s, Silversaint.”