by A R R Ash
The multitude did not raise tents or shelters each night and would light only a minimum of small cookfires for fear of attracting the attention of the monsters. The warriors slept huddled in their cloaks with heads resting upon packs or saddles. Unbeknown to the humans, each night at a distance, a strigoiic escort patrolled and guarded their camp on the chance that any of their kind not sworn to Shayala should happen upon the army.
Walking at the fore of the host, Aya, Sar-Kyul, and Shayala reviewed and finalized the details for the coming battle. On the morning of their final approach to the castle, the army would split into two forces, half led by Aya, and half by Sar-Kyul, accompanied by Shayala. Aya’s contingent would pass through the northern, aboveground tunnel that accessed the motte. After entering through a subterranean tunnel concealed beneath a waystation north of the castle, Sar-Kyul’s force would fight its way through the network of tunnels that led into the castle. Shayala provided both Aya and Sar-Kyul with a rough map to guide them through the mazy corridors and passages of the castle. The two forces would battle separately, unable to communicate, until they remerged at the audience chamber, where the enthronement would be held and, in all likelihood, where the Court’s new king would be found.
Aya led the more difficult incursion. Her contingent would use subterfuge to gain access through the two barbicans protecting the tunnel. Should they be discovered prematurely, they could become trapped between the gatehouses and rendered easy targets for slaughter. Once within the castle, however, they needed to cover less distance to the throne room than Sar-Kyul’s force.
Near dusk, Shayala descried a rocky landmark, a precipice resembling an angled pyramid upon the slopes to their left, and halted their march. They would camp among the foothills for the remainder of the night and make final preparations in the morning.
Day 38: Light
Under the fulgent protection of the fiery orange orb, the human army decamped and began its final march, across the expanse of laurel green shrubland, toward Castle Ky’lor. Although she could not enjoy its warmth, Shayala welcomed the sun’s light, marking a new day for the North. Still sated from the lynx seized during her predawn hunt among the foothills, she took comfort in that she soon need never again endure such humiliation as feeding upon lower animals.
Not long into the march, near the southern edge of the foothills, the host encountered a lonely copse of scrub pine, the tallest of which stood at not more than fifteen feet.
“This is the place,” Shayala said and instructed Sar-Kyul and Aya to await her return. She broke away from the main body of the host and entered the thicket. Secreted among the trees was a windowless coach, with two brown-and-white mottled draft horses tethered nearby. A feeding basket hung around each horse’s neck, and a low barrel of water sat within reach. The scents of manure and resin and fear-induced equine sweat overpowered all other odors. The horses had dug furrows in the dirt with their nervous pawing.
Shayala used her innate power to calm the animals before retrieving Aya. Although Aya had been aware of the ploy, she was no less surprised to find the carriage and horses indeed waiting. She found herself regarding Shenla with a profound admiration at the other’s capacity for planning and execution.
“As you approach the castle,” Shayala said, “the horses will become increasingly recalcitrant. You will be forced to lash them into compliance.” From within the coach, she retrieved a rolled parchment, though Aya could not read its contents. A sigil of three stacks of coins was stamped in red wax upon the lower right corner of the document.
“This forged charter is stamped with the imprimatur of the Royal Merchantry Office and grants the merchant who carries it to conduct trade in humans,” Shayala continued. “It will gain you access through the gate. By reason of the commonness of such trade and the admittance of only two carriages, the merchant need not even emerge from the coach.
“The guards will never imagine a bedraggled, downtrodden band of humans, no matter how large, could deceive them or prove to be any threat. Yet you must be certain not to call attention to yourselves. Never look a guard in the eyes. Never speak unless asked a direct question. Don’t let them see any hint of a weapon. And do not consume the blood until you have gained access through the second gate lest the fact that you do not impress upon their vivisense rouses their suspicions.” Shayala looked pointedly at Aya, who nodded her understanding.
The two forces commenced southward, one of which was headed by a horse-drawn coach and trailed by a long column of cloaked humans, seemingly rope-bound at the wrists. Not long into the journey, the mounted horses of the human army became increasingly agitated and intractable, and the warriors were forced to abandon them. As soon as they were released, the mounts fled at a gallop, away from the castle. Harnessed to the coaches, the draft horses were no less riled, causing the drivers to harshly and forcefully exert control.
The two forces traveled throughout the day with only the briefest of respites; even their food was taken on foot. Due to such a large concentration of strigoi at Castle Ky’lor, the scrub was free of animals normally inhabiting such an environment. Consequently, other than the occasional wind, which carried the earthy scents of dirt and leafage as well as the rustle of leaves and grass, the terrain was forebodingly quiet, as if a pall of dread had settled over land.
As the monsters could not move about in the daylight, the human army had no fear of encountering a patrol. For their part, the monsters would know they would face no danger from others of their kind during the day and would never imagine threat from a human force. Still, as a precaution, the warriors had been instructed to refrain from unnecessary conversation and to cinch their gear against clattery movement, as to not alert the monsters of their coming.
Some noticed a long column of erratic footprints in the gray soil and the flattened, drab grass or observed a trail of damaged sprigs among the greenish shrubbery. When asked about the prints, Sar-Kyul had no answer. And Shayala feigned ignorance, for she could not, without raising more questions, explain that another army had traversed a similar route the previous night and was now secreted beneath the castle.
Day 39: Night
Under the full moon and a clear sky, Sar-Kyul’s force neared the waystation five miles northwest of Castle Ky’lor while Aya’s force veered southeast toward the castle itself.
“We enter here,” Shayala said, indicating the solitary, one-story, stone structure surrounded by a growth of yellow-flowering, gray-green shrubs.
Sar-Kyul nodded, a clean bandage visible beneath his accustomed vest. With an inclination of his head, he said to Vartan, standing near, “Here.” The order was quickly and quietly passed down the ranks.
With drawn swords, Shayala warily entered the waystation. Sar-Kyul followed.
The interior appeared as if a battle had been fought within, though such was the result from the passage of a nosferatu horde, even when bound and chained: Jaggedly splintered wood lay scattered about, and pulpy chunks of flesh and shards of bone smeared the walls and floor near a set of manacles.
Shayala moved to the far corner of the single room and removed two small bricks from the stone floor. The voids created handholds for her to lift the larger stone from its emplacement, revealing a steep staircase of roughly hewn stone. A cloying scent wafted from the aperture.
Shayala descended the stairs, which led to a dark tunnel of planked sides, reinforced by thick wooden posts and lintels. At the foot of the stairs, a cylindrical oil lantern hung upon a hook. With a steel fire striker suspended from the base of the lantern, Shayala lit the wick, and the resultant small flame provided adequate light for her sharp eyes. The air of the tunnel was saturated with the spoor of nosferatu.
Sar-Kyul descended next. Before entering the structure, each warrior consumed a draught of blood, leaving the terrain littered with argent flasks. The human host filed down the stairs and into the subterranean tunnel.
*
Aya rode atop the box of the coach. Beside her sat a
scruffy-haired warrior. Both held the reins of a horse in a firm grip and kept their cloaks pulled tightly to hide their weapons. The coach entered the tunnel leading into the base of the motte and halted before the first gatehouse. Overlooking the battlements, archers stood with bows at the ready. A silver-plated, steel portcullis sat lowered before them. The long column of warriors extended far beyond the tunnel’s entrance, such that very few stood within.
To preclude the need to consume the blood during battle, some warriors drank their entire allotment at once, though many vomited from the overindulgence of the sour liquid, thus losing any benefit. In addition to a desire to avoid such an outcome, others chose to partake only as necessary to ensure that its effects would not expire before needed.
“What is your business?” called a male strigoi, gorgeted as a member of the castle guard, standing at the side of the portcullis. A halberdier stood opposite.
Aya kept her gaze downward and extended a hand with the charter. She trembled, her heart thumping as if it were a runaway beast. Sweat began to coat her brow and to clammy her hands, not from fear of battle but from worry of being discovered before gaining passage beyond the gates and from what her failure would mean for Sar-Kyul, Shenla, and the others. Yet she held no concern over the guard’s perception: likely he would expect her to react in such a manner.
The guard retrieved the parchment, scanning it quickly. He seemed to sniff the air, searchingly. An uneasy shudder coursed through Aya’s body. Could he detect the silver of the weapons and the flasks? Perhaps he sensed the absence of any monster’s spoor within the coach or sensed the presence of humans within the cabin. The last was easily explained as a convenient meal for the monstrous merchant. Even the silver could have a reasonable explanation, she tried to convince herself. Suddenly, this deception did not seem so sound. Beneath her cloak, Aya wrapped a perspiring hand around the handle of her kopis.
With a grunt, the guard flung the charter back at Aya and, turning toward the gate, said, “Open.”
Aya released a quiet breath but not her grip upon the hilt. A moment later, the portcullis began to rise, and Aya urged the horses forward, beneath its downward-projecting spikes. The column of humans began after the coach. The second portcullis was already raised as Aya approached it.
*
With deliberate nonchalance, to give no appearance of anything amiss, a soldier entered the audience chamber, where Munar’s inaugural celebration was underway, though the official enthronement had not yet occurred. The soldier spoke briefly, quietly to Seneschal Syuth, who hesitated, considering whether to trouble the duke. It was Syuth’s duty to deliver the report, though he did not wish to mar the ceremony with ill news. Nevertheless, duty prevailed, and Syuth straightened his back and moved toward the dais.
“Seneschal?” Corvyne, who stood at the bottom of the dais, asked at the approach of Syuth.
“I must speak with His Grace,” Syuth replied.
“I can relay the message,” Corvyne offered.
“Move aside, Castellan,” Syuth insisted as he pushed past.
Munar observed the exchange and the seneschal’s approach with a blend of annoyance and apprehension, while King H’hsu showed only amusement.
Into the ducal ear, Syuth whispered, “Your Grace, a number of nosferatu have become loose within the castle, though we will dispose of them shortly.”
“What? How?” Munar asked in a harsh whisper.
“We do not know, Your Grace…yet.”
“Seneschal, use whatever resources are necessary, but I will not have this occasion dishonored by any interruption, let alone by some feral creatures that you cannot control.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Syuth bowed and withdrew.
As he descended the dais, King H’shu asked, “Anything amiss, Your Grace?”
“Not at all, Your Majesty,” Munar returned with an innocent smile. “A small matter, but such are burdens of leadership.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” King H’shu’s returning smile intimated he suspected far more than the duke admitted.
Syuth left the chamber as quickly as decorum allowed.
*
With help, Lieutenant Thal had led the chained column of pain-incited nosferatu, once indentured at the silver mine, to a safe house north of Castle Ky’lor. From the safe house, a passage led to the elaborate underways of the castle, where the creatures had been confined within a long corridor, then released at a predetermined time to create chaos and confusion upon the castle’s defenders. She had considered this portion of the assault, the use of expendable, feral ruža vlajna to weaken their enemies, brilliant.
Yet when Lyan had revealed the remainder of the plan, including the use of an army of feral humans, Thal had nearly blurted her true thoughts about that aspect of the strategy. Humans? What can humans do? Even an army of them. Nevertheless, she had been ordered not to engage the humans, who would begin their attack shortly after the nosferatu’s rampage. In the absence of a countermand by Shayala herself, an order from Lyan was tantamount to a royal dictate. Thal and her soldiers would fight in parallel to, but not alongside, the humans.
Now, while Thal—with Cyuth, Ronla, the since-healed Ruln, and several dozen other survivors of Shayala’s guard—battled through the passages and corridors of the undercastle, she could not help but wonder what was becoming of the great Court if they fought on the side of feral humans.
*
With an uttered password, Shayala opened the door and, blades in hand, was first through the portal at the end of the tunnel, entering Ky’lor’s mazelike undercastle. Lieutenant Thal and the remnants of the queen’s guard, with the legion of strigoi prisoners-turned-nosferatu, would have been smuggled into the castle and, by this time, would be engaged in a diversionary battle with the defenders within the lowest reaches of the castle.
I near the endgame.
With practiced discipline, Shayala suppressed her exhilaration, at both the battle and the culmination of her decades-long stratagem, to concentrate upon all present concerns. With a whispered command, she ignited the ensconced torches and, with near-silent footfalls, moved quickly but warily down the corridor.
*
Sar-Kyul, his khopeshes held before him, followed Shayala through the portal. The remaining warriors streamed in behind him, creating a revealing clamor of stomping feet, clanging metal, and not-quite whispers. Although summer brought warmer air outside, here, in the dark tunnels beneath the castle, the air was still cool and damp.
Despite all he had struggled and learned and endured these past weeks, Sar-Kyul felt nearly overwhelmed: to have gained access to the monsters’ castle, the principal seat of their Court. Their king sits ignorantly safe above.
Now that he and the warriors of the free tribes progressed toward a final confrontation, victory seemed nearly too much for which to hope. Can we actually succeed? He stared at the back of the one who had brought such hope to the free tribes, reminding himself of what she was. He could not falter when the time came to destroy her as well.
*
As Aya’s coach passed beneath the second portcullis, she hazarded a glance upward, imagining the heavy gate being dropped atop her. But the moment passed and she was through. Then the shouting began, and portcullis did fall. Its spikes slid into the stone-lined slots in the floor, and the resultant crash echoed along the tunnel.
Without even considering that the commotion could have some cause other than an army of humans attempting to infiltrate the monsters’ castle, Aya drew a flask from an inner pocket of her cloak and gulped the unpalatable liquid. By the time she stood, drew her recurved kopides, and turned, she already felt the effects of the monsters’ blood. The warrior beside her was a second slower to react. He was turning, shortsword and serrated knife in hand, as Aya leapt atop the cabin. Three warriors, brandishing arms, emerged from either side of the coach.
In the rear of the gatehouse were rooms to either side of the portcullis, with a third above, creating a short passage
. Murder holes in the room above and those to the sides allowed defenders to attack anyone who passed through. A stone staircase ran around to the overhead room.
In a moment’s glimpse through the latticework of the portcullis, Aya saw the other gate had been lowered, and the hundred or so humans trapped between were beginning to engage the monsters. The majority of her force was stuck beyond the far portcullis and unable to join the battle. In less than a second’s hesitation, Aya leapt from the roof of the coach to the wall-walk, where the archers fired into the humans trapped below.
*
Thal was charged with eliminating Yah’l, Munar’s spy marshal, though she knew not where he could be found. From what she had heard of him, Yah’l rarely involved himself in battle directly, though all accounts claimed he was an accomplished killer and would likely observe and direct events from some nearby location. Without better intelligence of his possible whereabouts, she would begin the search within the eastern tower, occupied by Duke Munar.
Thal led her detachment from the main keep via the lowest of the three bridges, from which they could complete a sweep upward, floor by floor. Because of the enthronement ceremony, the halls were nearly empty; they encountered mostly scared strigoi servants who understood enough to find pressing chores elsewhere. The band had cleared three levels and approached an ascending spiral staircase when the grinding sound of stone sliding over stone marked the opening of an alcove behind them. From this cavity emerged ten soldiers; from the stairwell descended another nine, led by a saber-wielding warrior.