by Warhammer
They seemed old and weak. Rusty, indeed, she thought thankfully, exerting her strength against them. Even weak as she was, she managed to bend the bars enough to make a gap for her to slip through, and she raced up the stairs. What was she going to do now? Where was Adolphus Krieger? Did it matter?
She was on her own at last, with a chance to escape. This was still her best chance to get away before he or his repulsive human followers came to check the vault. She considered her options. The burning hunger increased. She had no winter clothing and no weapons. In the snow, in this haunted land, she would not get far. No matter how risky it was she needed to find supplies and weapons and warm gear. That meant searching this house and praying to all the gods she did not encounter the vampire or his henchmen. Part of her rebelled against the very concept of flight, part of her wanted to experience the vampire’s embrace again and again, no matter what the cost. Ruthlessly she squashed these thoughts. They would not help.
Quietly as she could she paced on. She was in part of the manor house she had never seen before, which was hardly surprising for mostly she had been confined to her rooms, except when summoned to Krieger’s throne room. A whiff of cooking food reached her nostrils, all animal fat and charred flesh. In spite of her hunger it left her repulsed. Nonetheless she forced herself to move in that direction.
She passed door after door. She knew she should pause and check them out, looking for what she needed, but she found she could not. Some compulsion, only half-understood by her rebellious mind, drove her in the direction she knew she would find people.
Ahead of her she caught a flicker of movement. Her first thoughts were to throw herself through a doorway and hide, instead she found her stride lengthening, sending her racing towards the fat merchant, Osrik. He stood there, a look of astonishment and fear on his face, a drumstick of chicken in his hands, and a stream of grease dribbling from his blubbery mouth. He raised his hands as if to ward her off. All of his actions seemed terribly slow to Ulrika, as if she were caught up in some strange nightmare. She could smell the warmth of him, the sweetness of the blood coursing through his body. She could see the pulse beating in his neck. It hypnotised her, drew all of her attention. The hunger in her was irresistible. She felt like a passenger in a runaway coach, or a rider mounted on a wild stallion. She had no conscious control over her body now, and she did not want to have.
The pain in her mouth grew intense. She felt something ripping through the flesh of her gums. A taste of old, stale black blood filled her mouth. She leapt forward on the screaming servant, arms grasping his neck and drawing him closer into her embrace. Weak as she felt herself to be, his frantic struggles availed him nothing. He seemed about as strong as a small child.
All conscious thought was seared away as she leaned forward and felt her fangs puncture the flesh of his throat. Like a wild beast she ripped at the artery, widening the gap, causing the blood to spray everywhere. It rose in a red mist, obscuring her sight, clinging to her flesh. It did not matter. There was plenty of the warm red stuff to drink down.
As it slid down her throat, a wonderful warmth filled her, a glow of wellbeing stronger than any pleasure she had ever felt before. The embrace of the vampire had been but a dim echo. The pleasure blotted out all other sensations: all horror, all guilt and all restraint. She gulped the blood down greedily, never wanting this moment to end, not wanting to stop. She heard the shouts and screams of the other servants but she ignored them. Osrik spasmed in her grasp, but the convulsions of his muscles were nothing to her. She held him in place easily though he was much heavier than she.
Her whole universe contracted till there was only her mouth and the hot wonderful flow of life-giving liquid. She was aware dimly of Osrik’s heartbeat slowing and then stopping, and the flow dying away until it became only a few drops. Still, the warmth of blood passed through her system. It passed from her stomach to her veins, with a sweetness so intense it was almost unbearable, then surged through some barrier where the pleasure became pain, and horror and fear came flooding back into her mind along with conscious thought.
Now she felt sick, nauseous, bloated beyond belief. She felt as if she might explode, like an overfull wineskin stuffed with stolen blood. Worse was the realisation of what she had done, of what she had become.
The sickness became so intense that she could barely stand up. She sensed the approach of other servants and could do nothing. She knew she should flee but could she could not. She knew that they would kill her and that she would welcome death. Instinctively, though, her body betrayed her. She reeled away down the corridor, nausea sweeping through her swift as fire. She hit a wall with her head, crumbled to her knees then crawled blindly down the corridor, retching up blood, bile and decaying bits of food as she went.
Swiftly the weakness overcame her and she slowed to a halt face down in a pool of filthy vomit, overcome with loathing for herself, and the thing she had become, and the one who had made her so. Darkness filled her vision again, and as it blotted out her consciousness she welcomed it.
‘Interesting chat?’ Felix asked, as Max settled down beside him. The wizard looked weary and more than a little grim. Hardly surprising under the circumstances, thought Felix. Dealing with one of the undying would put a strain on anyone. He was suddenly glad he had shared his knowledge of the countess with Gotrek and the wizard. In this case, it really was true that a burden shared was a burden lightened.
Across the fire, Gotrek looked up. His one good eye reflected the flames, giving the Slayer an eerie supernatural look.
‘Very,’ said Max carefully. ‘The countess is a very learned… woman.’
He sounded like he was having some trouble saying the last word. Felix thought he knew how Max felt. There was a crawling between his own shoulder blades whenever he thought of her out there in the darkness behind him. It had increased ever since he felt that strange surge of unease earlier in the evening, the prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck that he sometimes got when magic was being used in the vicinity.
‘Did you learn anything from her?’ Felix coughed. He could feel phlegm moving in his lungs but he was feeling a little better, he thought. Not quite so weak.
‘I learned we should beware of treachery.’ Max glanced around the fire. Aside from Gotrek and Snorri Nosebiter they were alone. The Kislevites preferred the company of their companions around the other fire. Ivan Petrovich was lost in gloom and stood apart, staring into the night. Snorri snored loudly. Gotrek glared at them. Felix did not doubt that the Slayer’s keen ears could hear everything Max said. ‘She thinks the Eye of Khemri might be used to control her, to turn her against us.’
‘Wonderful,’ muttered Felix. This news amplified his unease. ‘She also thinks we need to strike soon before others of their kind are drawn to the place. Who knows, they may already be on the way.’
‘This gets better and better. Remind me again why I came here.’
‘The same reason as I did, to free Ulrika.’
‘What if we can’t? What if she is dead?’ Felix pressed.
‘Then we avenge her.’
‘And what if she has… gone over to the other side.’
‘Then we kill her.’
Felix looked at Max and wondered if either of them were really capable of it. He caught the glitter in Gotrek’s eye. If they could not bring themselves to kill the woman, the dwarf could. Felix prayed to Sigmar that things would not come to that.
Under the moon’s eerie light, the corpses pulled themselves from their graves. Cerements still clung to their flesh. Their hands were claws. They hungered for the flesh of the living but another more powerful urge overcame their lust for meat. Somewhere out in the night, something called them, with a strength they could not resist. Stumbling, shuffling, moving like sick blind men, they began to march towards their goal. All over the cursed land of Sylvania peasants hid themselves within their houses and prayed to Sigmar to save them. The undead were on the move.
�
�So now you know,’ said Adolphus. Ulrika was surprised. There was no triumph in his manner, only concern. He looked at her like a lover might, or a father, or a king contemplating a favoured vassal or some combination of all three. She glanced around at her surroundings. She lay on the great four-poster bed, in his chamber. Someone had taken the trouble to clean the vomit and the blood and to change her clothing.
‘Let me die,’ she said. She felt miserable, physically and mentally. Her body was wracked by sickness, her mind by self-hatred and guilt.
‘You will not die now unless you kill yourself or someone kills you. You feel terrible now because you drank too much blood. It is a common mistake among the newly risen. In some ways it is like what happens when a starving man sits down to a banquet. His stomach simply cannot deal with all the food he eats. In other ways it’s like what happens after a human indulges in too much wine. There is what you might call a hangover.’
‘I do not want to live. I killed a man for no reason.’
‘You killed a man to extend your life. People do it every day. We have discussed this. Oh, now you feel guilty because it goes against many of the hypocrisies you have been taught since you were a child, but believe me, this too shall pass.’
‘I do not want to change the way I feel.’
‘But you will. Trust me. You will.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘We all say that, at first.’
‘You are so sure of yourself, aren’t you?’ Ulrika sneered. Adolphus Krieger shrugged.
‘I have every reason to be. I have gone through what you have gone through. And I know that one day you will thank me for doing you the greatest favour anyone has ever done for you.’
‘Turning me into a monster?’
‘Turning you into an immortal.’ Ulrika rose up on her elbow to stare at him.
She felt like lashing out. She wanted to take her nails and slash his face to the bone, to bury her fangs in his throat. He took a step back.
‘It would be extremely foolish of you to turn on me now,’ he said. ‘I know things that you need to know. Without that knowledge you will be prey to any passing vampire who decides to take advantage of you.’
‘It seems to me that you have already done that.’
‘True, but I am your progenitor. You are my get. I have certain responsibilities to you just as you have certain responsibilities to me. In a very real sense, you are my child.’
‘I already have a father.’
‘You had a father. What do you think he will do to you, if he finds out what you are now?’
Ulrika paused for a second. She knew what her father would do. The people of Kislev did not suffer monsters to live in their midst. That thought sent a flash of pain through her chest; no matter how much her father had once loved her, he would do his duty. It would pain him unto death but he would do what he had to.
‘Look at it another way,’ Krieger continued mercilessly. ‘What do you think you might do to him if you were near him when the thirst overtook you?’
An image of doing what she had done to the fat merchant to her own father flashed through her mind. It was at once horrifying and strangely attractive. She shuddered and tried to force the picture from her mind, but it would not go.
‘I see you do understand. It is best if you break all mortal ties now. You are still a neophyte. You would not be able to control yourself when the killing lust came upon you.’
‘Would I be able to one day?’
‘Good – you are beginning to adjust to your new state, to accept it.’
Ulrika realised that she was. She had taken to her new condition far too easily. Part of it was sheer Kislevite pragmatism. She was what she was and nothing could change that now, but part of it was something else.
‘You are doing something to my mind,’ she said. He nodded like a teacher pleased with a particularly apt pupil.
‘It is because I am your progenitor. There is a link between us that is very strong. Also it is this,’ he said indicating the talisman at his throat.
Her eyes were drawn to it. She sensed its power. It was like watching a huge spider clinging to his neck. Did he not sense the wickedness and the power of the thing? ‘It is as well that you understand your position from the start. There is much I have to teach you and we do not have a huge amount of time. Soon we will both be very busy.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Carving out a new kingdom here in Sylvania, ruling the night, and setting our servants to rule the day.’
‘Do you really think you can do that?’
‘I have already started. Now, listen! There is much you have to learn.’
Such was the compulsion implicit in his words that she fell silent, and simply stared at him, waiting for him to share his infernal wisdom.
‘You will find that many things have changed. You no longer need to eat or drink as mortals do. Blood will provide you with all the sustenance you need. It is everything to you now. It is the be all and end all of your unlife. It will nourish you, heal you, and provide you with power the like of which you could only dream about when you were mortal. With it, you can maintain your existence forever. Without it…’
He paused for a moment and glanced out the window as if considering something.
‘You will not die, not as others understand it. Something worse will happen.’
‘Worse?’
‘You will simply wither away, losing strength and youth and beauty. Your muscles will shrivel. Your mind will deteriorate. You will not be able to move or speak or think. Your body will become a withered desiccated husk, and yet part of you will live on imprisoned in it, aware in a very dim way of what has happened to you and of what you once were. It will be a long eternity of torment and hunger, tortured by the thirst but unable to slake it. It is something like hell.’
‘You speak as if you have experienced it.’ She said softly.
‘The beginnings of it, once, long ago. I was saved when another brought me blood. It gave me enough strength to hunt for myself once more. But enough of these ancient memories – I was telling you what you need to know.’
‘Then go on,’ she said, a little sulkily.
He reached out and touched her cheek. A thrill passed through her body. The feel of his cold skin on hers aroused a strange sensation in her. He smiled as if he knew what she was feeling.
‘I told you there was a link between us. Some of my blood is in you, just as one day some of your blood will be in your get. We are bound now by blood and by darkness.’
Ulrika considered this. On some deep instinctive level she knew it was true. There was a bond between her and Krieger such as she had never felt with any other human being. With any human being, she corrected herself bitterly, knowing she was no longer one herself.
‘Tonight I will tell you the essentials of what you need to know. The rules are simple. Do not go out by day if you can possibly help it. Find yourself a safe place and keep out of the light.’
‘Why? You sometimes do it.’
‘I have a tolerance for light. Some do not. Sunlight burns some of our kind as surely as flaming oil. Some are merely made torpid unless they have taken a great deal of blood, and even then their minds are not sharp. The only way to find out which type you are is to risk it and see, and that is not something you should do unless you are in the greatest of danger and swathed in the thickest cloak you can find, exposing as little flesh as possible.’
‘Could I not simply expose some skin, say, on the back of my hand, for a short space of time.’
‘You could, if you are willing to see it melt away into a stump if you are one of those who are vulnerable. And sometimes, for some of the Arisen there is an increased risk. Sunlight does not burn them immediately. It scorches their skin after prolonged exposure, blistering it and cracking it and causing the most extreme agony. It’s like a case of sunburn to a mortal, only a thousand times worse.’
‘Why is this?’
‘I am no
t a natural philosopher. I do not know. I can only tell you the stories I have heard. Some say the sun god of the long dead kingdom of Nehekhara cursed our kind. Others say it is because we are saturated with a dark magic that is disrupted by sunlight. The only thing I know for certain is that all our kind are almost blind by day compared to how well we see at night. Something in our eye changes, adapting it to darkness and making it too sensitive to the sun’s light. It is best to sleep through the day. It is when we become naturally torpid anyway.’
‘Can I fly? Turn myself into a bat?’ She realised it was a childish question, but being able to fly like a bird was a childhood dream, and perhaps she could find something good in what had happened to her.
‘Transformation can be learned but the mastery is a long and difficult process. I will teach you what I know of it when I have the time. For the present you should be content with what you have. Mortal diseases no longer affect you. You are now many times stronger and hardier and faster than any mortal man, and you are invulnerable to many of their weapons.’
‘Why?’
‘Most of your internal organs are useless to you now. Over time they will atrophy. A blade to the belly will do you no real harm. Most wounds will heal very quickly when you take enough blood.’
‘What about a stake through the heart?’
‘Ah, that old chestnut. Yes. That will harm you. Any blow there will. Your heart still beats, albeit so slowly as to be undetectable except after you have drunk. It still pumps blood through your body though. If it is shattered then it will take a long time to repair itself. You will still live, but all the things I told you about lack of blood will apply. It will be a period of torture, and at the end of it you may be too weak to feed.