Innkeeper Chronicles 3.5: Sweep of the Blade

by Ilona Andrews

  “Come show it to me.”

  Helen turned to Maud.

  “Yes,” Maud said. “Be polite.”

  Ilemina offered Helen her hand. Helen put her daggers away, took

  Arland’s mother’s hand, and walked away with her. “What kind of

  cookies…”

  Maud slumped over. Suddenly Karat was there, holding her up. Maud

  retched, spat out blood, and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

  People came over. Someone wiped her face with a wet

  napkin. Someone else grabbed her other arm.

  “Everything hurts,” she murmured.

  “No shit,” Karat said. “Look at yourself.”

  Maud glanced down. Cuts and slashes crisscrossed her armor, so many

  of them, it was no longer black. It was blood red. Across the field,

  Ilemina’s handed Helen a cookie. Her armor was crimson as well.

  Karat gently lowered Maud to the grass. “The medic is coming. Just sit

  here and rest a bit.”

  Konstana thrust into her view with field med unit. “Here.”

  “Are you going to poison me?”

  “Shut up and take the pain killer.” Konstana held the unit up. Maud

  pressed it against her neck. A stab and then a cool rush flooded her

  body, lifting the pain.

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  “Drink this.” Karat stuck a glass pitcher under her nose. Mint cordial. Of

  course. Maud gulped.

  “Where the hell did you learn to fight?” Konstana asked.

  “At my parents’ inn.”

  “Humans don’t fight like that.”

  “I couldn’t let her kill me,” Maud said. “I couldn’t leave Helen.”

  Karat stared at her.

  “You’ll get it when you have your own,” Konstana said.

  Maud leaned back against the stone. She didn’t win. But she didn’t lose

  either. The day was looking up.

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  Chapter 6 Part 3

  April 3, 2018 by Ilona

  Every step hurt. Maud walked down the hallway, trying not to wince,

  aware of Karat hovering by her side.

  The medic had arrived and quickly confirmed three cracked ribs. He

  offered a stretcher. Getting onto that stretcher and being carted off

  would undo everything she’d just fought for. She had sparred with

  Ilemina. She didn’t lose. She had to be seen walking away from the fight

  without any help.

  It took another agonizing quarter of an hour before Lady Ilemina retired,

  and the older sentinel had come to collect Helen, who still had some

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  scrubbing to do. Maud made it through by sheer will, but walking hurt

  like hell, and her will was quickly growing thin.

  Two middle-aged women strode past them, eyeing her red armor. An

  awful a lot of people had found an excuse to either cross or walk through

  the hallway. Word of her match with Ilemina had gotten around. They

  probably filmed it, Maud reflected. When it came to violence, they

  filmed everything.

  The personal unit on her wrist chimed. She glanced at it. The personal

  unit reacted, projecting a holoscreen over her wrist. It flashed and

  focused into Arland’s face. A beginning of a spectacular shiner swelled

  around his left eye. A long, ragged cut crossed his right cheek. His eyes

  blazed. He bared his teeth. She’d seen that look before on his face and

  recognized it instantly. Battle rage.

  “Are you alright?” he growled.

  “Are you?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Karat grabbed her wrist and raised Maud’s arm, so she could look at the

  screen.

  “Don’t you dare show up here,” she hissed. “She’s walking on her own

  power and we have an audience. What the hell happened to you?”

  “Otubar,” Arland snarled.

  What?

  Karat swore.

  Maud took her arm back. “You had a fight with your mother’s consort?”

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  “We had a spirited practice,” Arland said. “I’ll find you as soon as I’m

  done speaking with my mother.”

  “Don’t say anything stupid,” Karat barked, but the screen went

  dark. Karat rolled her eyes. “What is happening in our House?”

  They made another turn and walked into a room filled with medical

  equipment and curved cots, surrounded by metal and plastic arms

  bearing an array of lasers, needles, and what surely had to be tools of

  torture. The door blissfully hissed shut behind them. The room tried to

  crawl sideways. Karat grabbed her arm and steadied her.

  The medic, a lean male vampire with dark grey skin and long mane of

  dark hair pulled back from his face, pointed at her. “Out of the armor.”

  Maud hesitated. The armor was protection. In enemy territory, it

  determined life and death. Taking it off would make her vulnerable and

  she was feeling vulnerable enough already.

  “Do you want to walk out of here in two hours or do you want to be

  carried out?” the medic asked.

  She couldn’t afford to be carried out.

  Maud hit her crest. The armor split along the seams and peeled off from

  her, leaving her in the under-armor jump suit. The sudden absence of

  the reinforced outer shell took her by surprise. The floor rushed at her,

  yawning, dangerously close. Strong hands caught her, and the medic

  carried her to the cot. A scalpel flashed and then her jump suit came

  apart on the right side. The cot’s arms buzzed and hovered over her, as

  if the bed was a high-tech spider suddenly came to life. The cushion

  supporting her rose, curving, sliding her into a half-seated position. A

  green light stabbed from one of the arms, dancing across her bruised ribs

  in a hot rush.

  “How bad is it?” Karat asked.

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  The medic met Maud’s eyes. “You will be fine. If you get to me in time, I

  can heal almost everything, except stupid. You’re on your own with that

  one.”

  “What are you implying?” Karat demanded.

  “Going toe to toe with Ilemina was stupid,” the medic said.

  Karat fixed him with her stare. The medic touched the unit on his

  wrist. A huge holographic screen flared in front of them. On it, Ilemina

  kicked Maud across the lawn. The memory of the foot connecting to her

  ribs cracked through Maud. She winced.

  “Stupid,” the medic said.

  Maud sagged against the bed. The cushion cradled her, holding her

  battered body gently. The upper left arm pricked her forearm with a

  small needle. A soothing coolness flooded her.

  The door chimed.

  Now what?

  The medic glanced at the screen to his left. “The Scribe is outside the

  door,” the medic said. “Do you want to receive him?”

  Scribes kept vampire histories. Every genealogical quirk, every victory

  and defeat, every scheme gone wrong or right, they recorded it all. But

  she wasn’t a part of House Krahr. There was no reason why he would

  want to see her.

  Delaying wouldn’t accomplish anything and refusing the meeting would

  be unwise. The Scribe held enough power to force a meeting if he

  wanted and she had precious few allies as it was. No reason to alienate

  him.

  “Yes,” Maud said.

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  The door his
sed open, and the Scribe walked in. Tall, broad-shouldered,

  with a mane of chestnut brown hair, he was older than Arland, but not

  by much. He had a long intelligent face and his eyes, pale green under

  the sweep of thick eyebrows, were sharp.

  “Lady Maud,” he said. “My name is Lord Erast.”

  “To what do we owe the honor?” Karat asked.

  “It seems Lady Maud and I have gotten off on the wrong foot,” The Scribe

  said.

  “That’s impossible, my lord,” Maud said. “We haven’t met.”

  “Precisely. I labored under the assumption that as a human, you would

  be exempt from our traditions.” Erast nodded at the recording playing

  on the screen. “I was in error. We know exactly nothing about you,

  which makes it awkward at formal functions.”

  He flicked his fingers at his crest. “This session is now being

  recorded. What is your lifetime kill count?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Erast’s eyes bulged. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “I haven’t kept track.”

  “You were the wife of a marshal’s son. Was the importance of keeping

  a personal record not impressed upon you?”

  Maud sighed. “In the three years I was with House Ervan, they had no

  major conflicts. I had several personal bouts, but none of them were to

  the death. Afterward, on Karhari, it didn’t seem important.”

  “Did you have any titles?” Karat asked.

  “Maud the Eloquent.”

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  Karat and Erast looked at each other.

  “House Ervan put great emphasis on the knowledge of ancient sagas,”

  Maud explained.

  “Can she use that?” Karat asked.

  Erast pinched the bridge of his nose. “Technically, no. They struck her

  from their records, so any titles or honors earned while with House Ervan

  are forfeit. They are subjective, as in bestowed upon an individual by

  others to highlight certain deeds. The kill count is different because

  taking a life is an irrefutable fact.”

  “What about Maud the Exile?” Karat asked. “Could we do something

  with that?”

  Erast frowned. “My lady, answer honestly. What was the most

  important duty in your life before your exile?”

  “Taking care of Helen.”

  “What about on Karhari?”

  “Taking care of Helen.”

  “And now?”

  “Helen.”

  “Do you desire revenge on House Ervan?”

  “I wouldn’t mind punching a couple of them, but no. I was mad at my

  husband, and I buried him long ago.”

  Erast sighed. “The Exile won’t work. A title like that implies an element

  of rebirth. Lady Maud hasn’t permitted the act of being exiled to affect

  her worldview. There was no seismic shift in her personality as the result

  of being sent to Karhari.”

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  The two vampires stared at her. The frustration on Ervas’ face was

  almost comical.

  “They did call me something on Karhari.”

  “What was it?”

  “Maud the Sariv.”

  “What does that mean?” Karat asked.

  “On Karhari there is a summer wind that comes from the

  wastes. Nobody knows how it forms, but it comes out of nowhere and

  it picks up thorny spores from local weeds. When you inhale sariv’s

  breath, the spores enter your lungs and cut you from inside. There is no

  escape from sariv. If you are caught in it without protective gear, it will

  kill you. They called me that because I paid the blood debt I owed to my

  husband’s killers.”

  Erast perked up. “Do you have any proof of that, my lady?”

  “Would you hand me my crest?”

  Erast picked up her breastplate. His eyes widened at the mess of red. He

  offered it to her, and she pulled the crest off. She’d transferred all of her

  recordings to it as soon as Arland gave it to her.

  “Play all files tagged Melizard’s death in chronological order,” she said.

  The crest lit with red, projecting onto a wall. She knew every frame of

  the recording by heart. It played in her head for eighteen months. The

  view of a fortified town from a dusty hilltop. A crowd dragging Melizard

  through the street, faces contorted with fury and glee, rabid. Melizard’s

  bloody face as they took turns punching him, while he stumbled, caught

  in the ring of striking arms and legs. Him crawling on the ground while

  they kicked him. The stone bench they dragged out of the nearest

  house. The flash of a rising axe. Melizard’s head rolling. Melizard’s head

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  on a pike rising above the gates, his empty dead eyes staring into the

  distance.

  Silence claimed the room.

  A light ring singled out a face in the crow and zoomed in. A huge dark-

  haired male vampire with a scar across his face. A caption

  appeared. Rumbolt of House Gyr. The recording zoomed in on the face,

  turning dark, then blossoming into bright daylight, filmed by a camera

  attached to her shoulder. Rumbolt’s face, skewed by rage, as he swung

  a blood mace at her. One, two, three blows, all whistling past her. Her

  own stab, fast and precise as it slid into his throat and opened a second

  bloody mouth across his neck. Rumbolt collapsing on his knees, then

  face down into the dirt, his blood spilling into the dust. Her blade again

  as she sliced across his neck and kicked his head across the dusty street,

  rolling and bouncing.

  The recording blinked and a woman resembling Rumbolt stared up at her

  as Maud smashed her face with a rock. A caption popped up. Erline of

  House Gyr.

  “His sister,” she explained. “The relatives came after me after me at first,

  but they stopped after the first few kills.”

  The freeze frame of the crowd gripping Melizard flashed again. The light

  circle picked out a new face, a woman with grey hair, screeching, her

  fangs bared. The caption read Kirlin the Grey. The recording zoomed in.

  A vampire in heavy scarred armor was coming at her, her neck and face

  hidden by a full helmet.

  “Is that an antique space-rated unit?” Karat asked.

  “Yes. She preferred to fight in it. It made her slow, but the armor is so

  thick, the blood weapons can’t penetrate.”

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  On the recording Maud dodged the swings of Kirlin’s blade and thrust

  herself against the woman. Kirlin’s arm came up, then the recording

  reeled and rocked as Maud reeled away after taking the blow. Kirlin

  raised her sword, about to charge. A small dot of crimson flared on her

  neck. It blinked and Kirlin’s throat exploded in a gush of gore, taking the

  head with it.

  “Mining charge.” Maud smiled.

  The image of the crowd appeared again, singling out the new target. A

  lean vampire was backing away up the hill from the wild swings of

  Maud’s mace, moving closer and closer to the drop. She kept

  hammering at him, her voice a guttural snarl echoing every blow. He

  planted himself, aware he was almost out of ground and slashed at her

  with his sword. She dropped her mace, spun out of the way of his blade,

  and kicked him. It was a front kick, driven not up, b
ut down, almost a

  stomp. She’d sank all of the power of her body into it. It landed on the

  vampire’s leading knee. His leg gave out and he dropped down to

  compensate. She punched him in the face and rammed her shoulder

  into his chest. He sailed off the cliff. She bent down, and the camera

  caught his body impaled on the spikes below. The recording blinked, and

  the second body joined the first. Then the third. And the fourth.

  “He had three brothers,” she explained. “They kept coming after me, so

  I would tell them that if they tried to fight me, they wide die in the same

  spot their brother did, and they followed me to the cliff. Worked every

  time. I already had the spikes set up. It seemed a shame to waste them.”

  Erast, Karat, and the medic were looking at her like she had sprouted a

  second head.

  The next target loomed on the screen, an older vampire, his hair shot

  through with grey.

  “This one isn’t mine,” she grimaced. “This is my worst failure.”

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  The recording zoomed in. She was on the ground, her breath coming out

  in sharp pained gasps. The camera was splattered with blood. The

  vampire stood several feet away, his armor a mess of cuts. He gripped

  Helen by her hair. She dangled from his hand, screaming, his high-

  pitched shriek so sharp. Every time Maud heard it, it fell like her heart

  was breaking.

  “I’ve got your welp, bitch! I’ll slit her throat, so you can watch,” the

  vampire roared.

  He jerked Helen up. She spun in his grip, pulling her two daggers out,

  and drove them into the vampire’s face.

  He dropped her. Maud surged off the ground, drove her sword into the

  cut in his breastplate, and twisted. The armor cracked, contracting, and

  locked on the vampire, paralyzing him. The vampire collapsed, and

  Helen stabbed his exposed neck again and again, screaming.

  “This one is hers,” Maud said.

  It was so quiet, she could hear herself breathing.

  “How many are there?” Erast asked.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “I never counted.”

  “Then perhaps we should do so,” he said.

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  Chapter 7 Part 1

  April 6, 2018 by Ilona