The Black Fortress

by E. G. Foley

  Wyvern lifted his hands. “I’m putting myself on the line here too.”

  “All right, then.” Raige flicked ashes off his cigar. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “An attack on Merlin Hall,” Wyvern replied.

  “Oho! Aren’t you the cocky one. Nothing like starting small.” Raige paused, glancing at movement in the underbrush, but he let it go, looking askance at Wyvern. “Does Zolond know about this?”

  Wyvern shook his head. “He’s tired,” he said in an acid tone. “He’s on holiday.”

  Raige stared at him. “Holiday?”

  “You heard me. Shemrazul himself has decided we need new blood at the top—meaning me. If you’ll join me, I’ll make sure you get what you want.”

  The general lifted his square chin. “And what exactly do you suppose I want, Nephilim?”

  “What you always want. Another war to play with.”

  The general’s eyes glowed with flames for a moment. “The earth’s been too quiet these days.” He took a puff of his cigar. “Still, your plan is bold. I like bold.”

  “Indeed. We strike the first blow with a surprise attack when they’re least expecting it, and that will provide us with an important psychological victory. Demoralize them.”

  “The easiest way to win is to demoralize the enemy from the outset,” Raige said automatically. “Crush them right from the start in a show of domination.”

  “You see my vision exactly. So?” Wyvern murmured. “Are you in?”

  The smile the general gave him was slightly deranged. “Now you’re speaking my language.” Raige clapped Wyvern on the shoulder and nearly knocked him into the quicksand beside the path. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Sensing motion from the corner of his eye, Raige lifted his rifle quickly and took aim, firing into the thicket. A human yelp issued from somewhere behind the leafy screen of trees.

  “Ha!” said Raige as the puff of smoke from his gun filled the air.

  “Good shot,” Wyvern mumbled.

  The general gave him a sardonic salute, then Wyvern continued on his way.

  Next, he set a course for Budapest, where he went to pay homage to the Red Queen, Viola Sangray.

  In the eyes of human society, Lady Sangray was a ravishing Hungarian countess, but to the underworld, the vicious beauty ruled as the vampire queen.

  Again, Wyvern took care to arm himself well when he went to her castle on the Danube that night, for only the most deranged and bloodthirsty vampires climbed the darkling hierarchy to become the ladies and courtiers of the Red Court.

  He brought his wand and the Atlantean cuff once again, but the latter he hid under his sleeve, for he had murdered Janos’s family with it and the vampires were known to be clannish. He hoped she had not heard about that, or, if she had, that Shemrazul was watching over him tonight.

  As for the black widow herself, Viola was somewhere between five and six hundred years old, but regular feedings on the blood of the young kept her looking like a woman in her prime.

  She had jet-black hair and skin as pale as moonlight, a cruel sense of humor, and no conscience at all.

  When Wyvern walked into her crimson throne room that night, with its elaborate but empty gilded mirrors, its chandeliers overhead shaped like spiders or great glass ticks, he was startled by the sight of dazed, half-drained humans lying around on couches and divans, ashen-faced and lethargic.

  But he smelled a hint of spiced smoke on the air, and remembered it was an old vampire trick to keep the prey drugged so they wouldn’t struggle.

  These wretched creatures, however, were here by choice, offering their own veins to feed the thirsty vampires. They had been deluded into thinking that the vampires they served would actually let them join their coven one day from gratitude and live forever young and beautiful.

  Little did they know that vampires scoffed at their naiveté. The great fanged family only cared about their own kind—and that, just barely.

  He’d say one thing for them, though. Vampires had fine manners, at least these ones. They were almost as elegant as the dark elves. All of them were beautiful, both male and female, and so were their prey.

  When Wyvern entered, they bowed and curtsied gracefully to him as the son of Shemrazul. And yet, as he marched up the long red carpet from the doorway to the Red Queen’s throne, he could feel their hostility.

  If the Horned One weren’t his father, he’d probably be dead by now, merely walking in here.

  Viola was lounging on her throne and sipping from a skull-shaped goblet. The moment he saw the pout on her ruby lips, Wyvern knew he had trouble.

  She must have heard about the hatchlings.

  That was the only reason Wyvern swallowed his pride enough to bow to her. “Greetings, dark lady.”

  “Wyvern,” she said, staring coldly at him. “I trust you’ve come to explain yourself for your barbarous atrocity.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Um…”

  She bared her fangs at him, appearing in a whoosh to stand right in front of him, glaring into his eyes. “You killed six of my beautiful daughters and all of my grand-hatchlings, my darling Janos’s brood.”

  “I can explain—”

  “I should hope so.”

  Lucky for Wyvern, vampires did not hold much value for life. If she were really angry about what he’d done, she’d have come looking for him with several of her deadly followers by her side.

  “And where is my son-in-law, anyway? Did you kill him, too?”

  “No.”

  “Then why has he not come to us? We are here for him, ready to comfort our grieving brother.” She gestured to her court.

  The vampire ladies and gentlemen began approaching from all direction, gathering ’round and staring at him.

  Wyvern gulped. “That’s just it, Your Majesty,” he said. “Janos has betrayed us all. He’s gone back to his old friends with the Order.”

  Viola scowled at him. “Impossible.”

  “It’s true. This is why he had to be punished. I certainly never intended for his family to die.”

  The other vampires in the room hissed at this obvious lie, but what did they expect?

  Just then, Wyvern felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down and saw a frail waif of a girl who’d come shuffling over to him. She lifted her arm, offering him her wrist to bite.

  Wyvern shook his head with distaste. “No, thanks.”

  “Well, if you see my son-in-law,” said Viola, “tell him to come home. I want to talk to him and see for myself if your story is true.”

  “You’d believe him over me? Don’t you realize who I—”

  “Tell him it is no trouble for me to make him a new bride, several if he likes. He can have his choice. As for you, Nephilim…” The vampire queen returned to her throne, her ruthless stare fixed on Wyvern. “I had better not hear about you killing Janos or I will be cross.”

  “Fine,” Wyvern said in a dull tone. He’d paid Janos back enough for now. “But be warned: don’t trust him if he should appear. Janos is a traitor. In truth, I doubt you would be pleased with how he was raising his children. He was corrupting their minds with compassion, filling their head with all sorts of dangerous notions. He wouldn’t even let them feed properly. I saw it for myself.”

  “What’s this?” Viola hissed at the news. “I suppose you have proof of this infamy?”

  “Well, not proof, exactly—”

  “Then save your excuses,” she said. “Blood is thicker than water among my kind. Surely you know that if you were not the son of Shemrazul, you would never leave this chamber alive after what you’ve done.”

  Wyvern hid his impatience. “My humblest apologies, Your Majesty.”

  “If what you say about Janos is true, we will deal with him ourselves. Otherwise, you should have come to me to let me know there was a problem with my favorite son-in-law before you took such action.”

  “It won’t happen again,” he said wryly.

  She snor
ted, then took another sip from her goblet. “Well, dragon lord? Why are you really here?”

  Wyvern glanced around at their angry audience. “In private, if you please.”

  Viola flicked a suspicious glance over him, then barked her courtiers’ dismissal.

  They all left, the vampires gliding out gracefully, their human cattle shuffling out behind them.

  Only one large blond male in an impeccably tailored suit remained behind, refusing to leave his queen’s side—the royal companion, Wyvern gathered.

  He didn’t mind. If Viola trusted the imposing fellow, then Wyvern could tolerate him hearing this as well.

  Once the three of them were alone, Wyvern explained the situation with Zolond, and how the old man had fallen out of favor with Shemrazul.

  Pondering his news, Viola paced across the room. When she reached the edge of the floor, she continued strolling up the side of the wall, her black skirts trailing after her.

  It was an impressive display, especially since the black lace train of her gown remained in harmony with her motions, and the contents of her goblet remained in her cup, as though she commanded even gravity.

  When she reached the ceiling, she turned a nimble somersault and vaulted down to stand before him. “You really mean to do it? Overthrow Zolond?”

  “I mean to try,” he answered.

  The blond vampire held his tongue, but the look he exchanged with the queen seemed approving of Wyvern’s proposal.

  “Admittedly, we have been a little disappointed with the Dark Master of late,” Viola said, lifting her chin. “He is so absorbed in his experiments that he loses sight of the grand vision. The future. The Master must devote himself to furthering the interests of the dark world. For the sake of our children.”

  “Exactly,” said Wyvern, thinking of Jake.

  His son.

  Soon.

  “But on the other hand”—Viola paced back the other way, sauntering up the opposite wall, and strolling across one of the big mirrors—“old Zolond always was fair to my kind. He’s had none of the prejudice others hold against us, you know.” She eyed him skeptically from beneath her black lashes. “After what you just did to my kin, I am not convinced you hold the proper respect for the darkling race.”

  “On the contrary, your majesty, what I did proves my respect for your people, your traditions! Janos was betraying everything it means to be a vampire. I made an example of him that will dissuade any more of your children from breaking with the old ways that you hold so dear.”

  “Humph.” She weighed his words, floating back down onto the floor. “Is it really Shemrazul’s will that Zolond be cast down?”

  “It is,” Wyvern said solemnly. “I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that.”

  The male vampire pinned Wyvern with a wary stare in the candlelight, while Viola walked back up the few steps to her throne. Atop the low dais, she took a swirling half step, fluffing her black skirts around her.

  “Here is my answer, Nephilim: show me some evidence that this is really Shemrazul’s will, then my people will join you in the fight. Obviously, I cannot take you at your word after what you’ve done to my kin. For all I know, you could be lying. This could be a trap.”

  “It’s not, I promise you. Shall I swear it on my blood?” Wyvern took out his dagger and offered a blood oath, prepared to cut himself to gain this alliance.

  Viola’s glance flicked to his wrist. A greedy gleam came into her eyes and she licked her lips. “I’ve never tasted Nephilim blood.”

  “No, my love. It could be poisonous,” her mate murmured, stopping her as she stepped forward. She frowned at him, but the vampire shook his head. “Shall I taste it for you first?”

  She paused, then cupped his cheek. “No. I could not bear to lose you. You’re right.” The male vampire kissed her hand before she lowered it to her side again. “Tempting as your offer is, my companion is right. You don’t last six hundred years by being reckless. I’ll decline.”

  “Very well.” Wyvern put his dagger away.

  She took her seat again while her bodyguard stood at attention right behind her throne. “When I see some sort of proof that your plan has a hope of succeeding, then we will join you, Wyvern, but not a moment sooner. I’m sure you understand. My people believe only in what we can see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. We are open to supporting your coup, but not on blind faith. Never blind faith. Not the vampires.”

  Wyvern had no choice but to nod. “I can respect that.”

  Aside from their reputation for clannishness, Wyvern knew that vampires were usually slow to commit, but once they did make up their minds about something, they were wholehearted.

  That trait had certainly proved true with Janos. In hindsight, Wyvern realized it had been his killing Urso, the bear shapeshifter, that must’ve pushed Janos over the edge from friend to foe.

  As for Viola, he couldn’t blame her for being skeptical of him after the incident with the hatchlings. In truth, this had gone better than he had any right to expect.

  “I will see that your people are given special distinctions when I become the Dark Master,” he promised her.

  “If you become the Dark Master,” she replied. “We’ll see.” She raised her glass to him. “To the future, Wyvern, whatever it may hold.”

  Wyvern murmured agreement, then sketched a bow and took leave of her.

  As he left her castle and returned to the Black Fortress, he stewed a bit on their exchange. Her answer hadn’t been quite what he’d hoped for, but he could work with this.

  It was worth showing a little patience, anyway, because having an army of undead killers by his side would bring him a huge advantage over anything the Order could produce.

  Then he gave the bridge crew a new set of coordinates. Next, he would drop in for an unannounced visit to his next potential ally—two for one this time.

  The Cataclysm Twins.

  * * *

  The next day, Jake was delighted to return to the Waterfall Village behind the thundering cascade in the Welsh mountains.

  Though it was dim in the dwarves’ underground realm, the cozy little city they had hewn for themselves right into the rock had a welcoming feel, with its cubbyhole shops, quaint town square, and winding walkways, all lit by hanging lanterns both day and night.

  The dwarves received them in a formal ceremony headed up by Emrys, the hearty, dark-eyed chief of Jake’s gold mine. Charming old Ufudd was there too. He had woven a red ribbon braided into his long white beard for the occasion.

  All the dwarves rejoiced to see Red again, though they preferred to call him by his true Welsh name, Crafanc-y-Gwrool. The dwarves had a great esteem for the Gryphon. After all, it had been Red’s mother who had shown Jake’s ancestors the vein of gold in the mountain that became the mine and eventually spawned the entire village here—all because of her gratitude to Jake’s medieval ancestor, Sir Reginald Everton, for saving the Gryphon egg and returning it to the nest instead of delivering it to his king.

  Red pranced in delight at the dwarves’ adulation. They spoiled him here, really. The noble beast made such a ham of himself that even Maddox laughed.

  Then their jolly hosts welcomed the diplomatic party with a concert, just like they had when Jake had first come here and met them all.

  As before, the dwarves cast powdered handfuls of the mysterious mineral known as Illuminium up into the air. It began to sparkle and glisten in the resonant frequencies of their song.

  Jake watched Dani staring up at the glittering dust in wonder. She had always been fascinated by Illuminium.

  As he recalled, she had sprinkled some of it on Teddy once for laughs and made him glow. But as pretty as the twinkling cloud of dust was at the concert, the redhead’s delight at it was prettier still.

  The following day, after the concert and the welcome feast, Jake was allowed to sit in on the official meetings again, since he knew the dwarves well—and, indeed, owned the land on which they lived.


  He watched and listened, impressed with his aunt and uncle’s diplomatic skills. The dwarven folk could be a little grumpy, as he had learned last time he was here. They especially did not like to hear about anything that might interfere with their work schedules.

  “Ah, no one even thinks about us out here! We keep to ourselves,” one of the town leaders insisted. “Why should a bunch of warlocks bother us?”

  They pooh-poohed the threat from the Dark Druids at first, but Jake knew they were really just annoyed at the prospect of having to pause production in order to shore up their defenses.

  Hard workers, they hated missing their quotas. Growing testy at Uncle Richard when he tried to stress the danger, they quit listening to him—and Aunt Claire they all but ignored, for, in their view, what did an aristocratic human lady know about mining, let alone the affairs of dwarves?

  They could be a little touchy when they felt anyone was questioning their expertise. They grumped and harrumphed about having to change their busy mining schedule, until Jake finally spoke up to reason with them. What they cared about most was the gold they worked so hard to unearth, so…

  “My friends,” he said, “what if the enemy were to mobilize that tribe of gold goblins out in the woods against you?”

  “Those parasites? Bah, they don’t scare us,” said the deputy mayor. “We know how to manage them. You know how stupid they are.”

  “W-well, yes, I…I know they’re usually pretty docile,” Jake admitted. “But we’re dealing with highly skilled warlocks. The Dark Druids could put a spell on the goblins to make them more aggressive, or even make them clever temporarily. What if creatures like that started sneaking in here to steal from you?”

  “That could never happen,” someone muttered.

  Jake hadn’t seen which one had said it, but the dwarves’ resistance made him all the more determined to convince them of the seriousness of this situation.

  Inspiration struck without warning, and suddenly, he realized how to motivate them.

  Jake leaned forward. “Armies need funding, you know. Even evil ones. There’s a lot of gold in these mines that our enemies would love to get their hands on to support their dark operations. A well-run mining enterprise like this could easily become a prime target.”