by Jack Conner
Ruegger sprinted carefully through the corridor, wanting not to destroy any of the irreplaceable bottles that flanked him. He just hoped that Raulf would show the same courtesy.
This was not to be. With a roar and the sound of things breaking, the Captain entered the tunnel behind him. Ruegger turned to see whether or not his pursuer would fit and was disheartened to see that he would.
Just barely. Relentlessly, D'Aguila surged forward, his great bulk scraping the walls and destroying the bottles that this corridor had been designed to protect. Unable to use his wings here, the Captain utilized his muscular legs to propel him forcefully toward his quarry, smashing every rack that he came to. His red eyes blazing, his body covered by blood and antique wine, he opened his great mouth and roared at the thrill of the hunt.
Ruegger dashed on, breathless.
He reached an equally small tunnel that emptied out into this one and decided to take it, although not without a shred of guilt. The wines down this new corridor were probably even finer than those of the first one, and if D'Aguila could enter the first he could just as easily enter the second.
Unfortunately, Ruegger was right. Though D'Aguila did have some trouble changing position in order to force his way into this new passageway, he managed.
"Run!" he shouted. "It makes your adrenaline flow fast and free. I love to eat those with adrenaline in their veins. It makes their blood all the headier."
The Captain charged, and Ruegger could hear the grievous shattering of glass as he came on. Up ahead, Ruegger saw a brighter light. He was heading back toward the main chamber, which wasn't going to do him much good. Still, his alternatives were few.
A rifle cracked. Slugs tore into his chest. He glanced up to see that one of the soldiers was jogging towards him from the direction of the main chamber. The shade had time to release another burst before Ruegger was upon him.
When he had torn out the man’s jugular, Ruegger wrenched the AK-47 from his grasp and kept running. With a quick glance at the rifle, he had an idea—Kharker's weapons storage room, right near the stairs that led up into the mansion.
That’s where the soldier had found this gun, Ruegger knew; unable to find his own weapon in the maze, he’d broken into the Hunter's cubby-hole of death and borrowed one. In his haste, the soldier had made a poor choice. The Darkling would do better.
When Ruegger emerged into the main chamber, he entered the maze again and pressed down one row and another, making his way toward the stairs. He knew he was safe as long as he could hear the breaking of glass as the Captain smashed his way through the tunnel Ruegger had just emerged from. With any luck, D'Aguila would become lodged there. The sound ended, though, and Ruegger knew he was in trouble again.
He neared the end of the maze—or the beginning of it, rather, for this is where one would normally descend into the cellar to enter the burgundy corridors.
A stretch of open ground lay between the stairs and the beginning of the maze, and Ruegger would have to cross it in order to reach the storage room, the door of which hung open in tatters, thanks to the soldier and, presumably, his comrade. The room was ten feet from the staircase. Glancing overhead, Ruegger spotted D'Aguila making a long slow pass, his large belly bared and leaking blood.
Ruegger stepped from the maze onto the open ground and spun to face the Captain. Raulf, seeing his prey vulnerable, adjusted its course and began a dive toward the Darkling, obviously relishing his moment of triumph.
Suddenly, thousands of bottles rose from their wooden nesting places and shot up toward the creature. At Ruegger's telekinetic direction, a humming swarm of the ancient receptacles assaulted D'Aguila, their legions breaking against him in a frenzy of bursting glass. Raulf bellowed in pain.
The bottles continued to fly from the racks, striking the beast with an ever-increasing intensity. D'Aguila halted his attack, concerned only with warding off the endless volleys. The bottles slammed into him, exploding brightly, bruising the Captain with their weight and cutting deeply when they broke. The glass that didn't lodge in Raulf's flesh rained down on the maze, glittering. Torrents of wine spilled down D’Aguila’s scaly hide, mixing with the blood, and Ruegger felt a stab of regret. It was probably all vinegar, he told himself, but the scent given off by the drink divulged a different story.
When the buzzing cloud of bottles surrounding D'Aguila grew so thick that Ruegger could no longer see his enemy, he made his way into the weapons locker and surveyed the room happily. On the far wall hung what he had come for. Quickly, he loaded two of Lord Kharker's elephant rifles with three rounds each and stepped back out into the main chamber.
The Captain flew erratically above the maze, trying to outpace the bottles that dogged him. Ruegger was having a hard time directing his tools properly because he could only see Raulf now and again, when a rift opened in the cloud of glass and wine. Even then, it was only for a second.
Not letting the barrage abate, he took aim with one of the rifles—though he still could not see his target—and fired into the heart of the din.
D'Aguila roared.
In a flash of anger, the Captain dove down toward Ruegger, flying so fast that his great mouth actually emerged from the glass cloud around it.
Ruegger fired into the mouth. The round halted the Captain's dive for a moment, but only for a moment.
Ruegger fired again. The Captain shuddered. Kept coming.
The Captain progressed so swiftly that Ruegger ceased hurling bottles at him simply because they were now a danger to him. The bottles dropped away, revealing D'Aguila—or the ragged ruin of the creature that had been D'Aguila.
His wings were so smashed and shredded they could barely keep the monster airborne, his thick hide punctured and broken in too many places to name, and all the glass embedded in it made him gleam obscenely like a blood-spattered diamond. His head, however, was still large and viscous, and though D'Aguila must have been in intense pain, his smile was savage.
Ruegger picked up the second elephant gun and fired.
Reeling, D’Aguila hung in the air. He coughed wetly, and his eyes glazed over. His wings beat slower, costing him altitude. Realizing his imminent demise, the Captain tried to rouse himself. His eyes snapped open. His wings beat fiercely.
Ruegger fired again, shooting the creature straight through the brain.
D’Aguila fell, smashing two rows of wine before striking dirt.
Ruegger glanced all around, on the lookout for the second sentry. There, fifty yards away, was the soldier. The shade lay dead, surrounded by a thickening pool of its own blood, and over him, his body drenched in the fluids of his victim, stood Jean-Pierre.
Chapter 7
Jean-Pierre nodded to Ruegger, and the Darkling returned the gesture. The albino had heard or witnessed much of the action between the winged crocodile and Ruegger and was surprised that the vampire had been the victor. He’d been ready to step in, had this been called for, and in a strange way it disappointed the albino that this hadn’t happened, as if he needed to intervene on behalf of the Darkling in order to prove something. The feeling was ridiculous, of course.
"What are you doing down here?" Ruegger asked, as Jean-Pierre stepped forward.
"I got lost in the maze,” said Jean-Pierre, not wanting to mention his session in the cell with the Danielle look-alike. Before Ruegger could push him, he said, "What was that thing?"
"I don't know. It called itself Captain Raulf D'Aguila. The name sounds familiar. Let's put him to the question."
"Not just yet. There was something I wanted to discuss with you, but not in front of Kharker."
"Can't it wait? There's a war going on up there."
"No. It's finished." Jean-Pierre tilted his face to the ceiling, listening, and the vampire mimicked the gesture. When Ruegger appeared to comprehend, Jean-Pierre said, "See? It's silent. Whatever happened, we missed it. Now, about what I wanted to say … "
"Yes?"
"I was thinking on what Kharker told us. B
ob and the Sangro Sankts and the kavasari. I came to think of Amelia, and the stories I’d heard of her death."
"Stories which were greatly exaggerated, apparently."
"That's just the point. She was made a kavasari." Something passed across Ruegger's face, and Jean-Pierre knew he was getting through. "From what I know of kavasari—and I admit that's very little—they’re extremely reluctant to make more of their kind. In fact, inherent in their very existence is a purpose, and that is to eliminate immortal overpopulation."
"So the making of a kavasari is a deliberate act."
"Exactly.” The albino permitted himself a small smile. "It makes sense that creating a new kavasari would require a consensus of opinion among the elders of their kind—or, maybe, a decision by their supreme elder. Bob, or whoever."
"You're saying that Amelia was made a kavasari by the oldest kavasari of them all, the one who organized the cult that protects Roche Sarnova."
"It’s only a theory."
Ruegger frowned. “It makes some sense, but I don't know where it can lead. I mean, how could we investigate that? And what does it mean if it's true?"
Jean-Pierre shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Bob was in love with Amelia from afar. Or maybe a new kavasari needed to be brought over because of the exploding population of the shadeworld and Bob just happened to like her politics."
"And since Amelia's the Scourer, that means Bob liked the politics behind the Scouring—death to religion and evil."
"Politics which you share, Ruegger."
"I suppose. But it all seems to connect, doesn't it? The War of the Dark Council and the Scouring."
"Maybe they do. The connective tissue is Bob. Or Amelia. She could be a member of the Sangro Sankts."
"Maybe." Ruegger slipped a hand inside his jeans and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He seemed surprised to find that they were whole but he didn't let the surprise distract him from lighting one up. "Want one?"
"No," said the albino. "I'm quitting. I need to be in control and focused for the days to come, not preoccupied with vices. There will be plenty of time for vices when all this is over."
"You seem very sure."
"I can feel it coming, whatever it is. Now let's go interrogate that thing that was chasing you."
Ruegger disappeared inside the storage room and emerged with a large box of shells. Opening it, he tossed a handful of long cartridges to Jean-Pierre. They each loaded one of the elephant guns and moved off into the maze, Ruegger in front and the albino close behind.
Having just fed, Jean-Pierre's senses were sharp, and he could smell the wine and the blood and the earth in his nostrils so acutely that he nearly ached with the sensation. He forced himself to concentrate.
They came upon the Captain, lying sprawled among the wreckage of bottles and racks. For his part, D'Aguila had shifted from his reptile form to his more human form. Completely hairless, he was a tall and obese man, his rolls of fat settling on his massive body and hanging to the side as gravity claimed them. His eyes, which fluttered open occasionally, had a mad reddish tinge, and they were deep and large and set far back in his skull, each one gleaming like a moon of flame on a cloudy night. His teeth, seen when he opened his mouth to smack his ruddy lips, were many and sharp, so sharp they looked as if they'd been deliberately filed, but Jean-Pierre's intuition told him that they were naturally that way. His wings were great and dark and bleeding, half-crushed beneath his naked body.
At their approach, D'Aguila's eyes snapped open and fixed on Ruegger. The Darkling pointed the elephant gun at Raulf's sweaty forehead.
"Good evening, Captain.”
D'Aguila merely growled.
"If you're a Captain, then what army do you belong to?" Jean-Pierre asked.
"I'm a Libertarian, you feeble-minded, sun-whipped mongrel."
"You're from Liberty?" Ruegger said. To Jean-Pierre's eyes, the Darkling didn't seem entirely surprised.
"That's right."
"Then you know Maleasoel."
"Know her, Darkling? I'm sleeping with the bitch."
Ruegger cocked the rifle. "What are you saying?"
"I'm fucking Ludwig's widow. In fact, I've been fucking her since before he was murdered!"
Ruegger's eyes blazed, and Jean-Pierre thought that he might have to restrain the vampire.
"Then you killed Ludwig.”
"No," D'Aguila chuckled. "But I did represent the faction of the Libertarians that wanted to proceed with the plan to take over the world."
"You're the one that commissioned Junger and Jagoda to kill Danielle and I. You hired Jarvick and the other sand-rats."
"Wrong again, Darkling. I was the one that blew up one of the buildings at Liberty and led the attack against Maleasoel. We didn't mean to kill her, we just wanted to scare Ludwig into delivering on his promises. He couldn't make up his mind about what he wanted to do. He was a weakling, which is why Malie started sleeping with yours truly."
"You're a pig," Ruegger said.
D'Aguila shrugged, indifferent.
Ruegger took a breath. "Do you have any idea who killed Ludwig?"
"Why the hell do you think we're attacking Lord Kharker—because we were bored? No, you imbecilic leech. Kharker claimed credit for Ludwig's murder, and Malie wanted vengeance. She believed that the Great White Bastard was covering for the Dark Lord, so she staged this attack so we could capture him. Interrogate him."
"How many soldiers did you bring?" Jean-Pierre said.
"Just enough to do the job: fifty of our best. Any more than that and we wouldn't have been able to support ourselves, what with the meager sort of food we could find in the jungle."
"Why did you try to kill Ruegger?"
"Malie wanted me and some troops to detain him so that he wouldn't get hurt in the battle."
"Detain me?" Ruegger said.
"I only wanted to put your head in my mouth, my teeth on your neck, and have you submit. Then I would've released you. But no, the Darkling had to fight back! Idiot. Couldn't stand to be upstaged."
"I should kill you now."
"Then do it, blood-boy," D'Aguila grinned, sharp teeth shining. "Shoot me. Shoot me in the belly, make me linger for a while. I'll be in agony, dying. Come on, it'll be fun."
Jean-Pierre could see the conflict in Ruegger and understood what Kharker had told him about the vampire's nature. If it had been up to the albino, D'Aguila would be dead now, his needling ineffective. Ruegger was a different animal, an animal that thought itself moral while its native impulses said otherwise.
Eventually, Ruegger lowered the gun, but raised his free hand. A knife glimmered there. Then Ruegger was on the ground and sticking the blade into D'Aguila's throat.
"Get up," the Darkling ordered. "Slowly. One wrong move and I'll cut off your bald head and make it watch while I feed your body to the alligators."
Raulf rose gingerly, his body still bruised and battered, covered in blood and sparkling with countless pieces of glass that stuck from its flesh like scales. Jean-Pierre watched all this, wanting to be of help but finding Ruegger quite capable of handling himself. The vampire stood behind the Captain, pressing the knife into Raulf's neck.
"Okay," Ruegger said. "Let's go upstairs."
Staying behind Ruegger and D'Aguila so that he could keep the rifle trained on Raulf, Jean-Pierre followed as the Darkling maneuvered his prisoner up the stairs, using his mindthrust to open the door at their top.
When the two had crossed into the upper part of the Lodge, Jean-Pierre followed, and they headed for the foyer. The albino heard a sound behind him and turned to find two of the jungle soldiers training guns on him. Since they made no move against him, he ignored them.
The three entered the foyer, bordered on one side by the sweeping staircase and adorned with animal trophies—hides, heads and all. Sitting on the hide-covered floor and chained together were a dozen of Kharker's Caucasian mercenaries. Over the bloody and taciturn men huddled a group of Libertarians, their guns ai
med and ready.
When Ruegger entered, shielded by D'Aguila's bulk, the Libertarians all took a step back and re-trained their weapons. Jean-Pierre moved to the Darkling's side but kept the elephant gun pointed at Raulf.
"Move and I'll cut off your Captain's head," Ruegger said. "Stand down and lower your weapons."
"Do it!" said the albino.
The Libertarians turned to D'Aguila for direction. The Captain sneered, but nodded his consent, and his soldiers lowered their guns.
"Up here!" Jean-Pierre heard. He peered upward to see a beautiful jandrow on the second floor landing, her arms braced on the railing. She was a dark angel, he thought, with long black hair and dark eyes, and the dark wings that she kept tucked behind her back looked painfully fresh, as if they'd recently been torn off and had just grown back. Her black clothes and black leather vest were those of an anarchist, as was the black beret on her head. It was Maleasoel, he knew, although he’d never met her. The Widow Ludwig, now commander of Liberty.
Ruegger smiled at her, but she didn't smile back.
"Please," she insisted, "release Raulf."
The Darkling withdrew the blade from the Captain's neck. Instantly, D'Aguila stumbled forward and spun to face his tormentor, anger burning from every pore in his bountiful flesh.
"Calm down," Maleasoel told him. She studied the albino. "You must be Jean-Pierre.”
"And you Maleasoel."
"Call me Malie. Now, the three of you, come up here at once."
They joined her at the landing, and none of the soldiers protested or moved against Ruegger or Jean-Pierre. Ruegger attempted another smile and tried to embrace her, but she offered him a hand instead.
"Good to see you again," he said, taking it.
"There's no time for that. This is business."
"I thought revenge was personal."
"Not when there are as many people involved in it as there are at present. I’ve duties and obligations to those I lead to deliver justice."
Smugly, D'Aguila stepped in for an embrace, and, seemingly reluctant, she allowed him to crush her against him. At once, Jean-Pierre saw the truth of the matter. This woman had not slept with the beast because she needed the intimacies that only he could offer her; rather, she had known that Liberty was crumbling out from under her and had chosen the Captain as an ally so that when Ludwig fell, Liberty would not. Or at least its power would not be subverted by others with separate agendas.