Mamoru shook his head and stayed silent.
Lord Kelvin sighed again, reiterating his dismay. “You don't seem to understand that I will do anything to preserve the Empire. Anything.”
“You're an idiot!” Mamoru spat. “You're going to doom all of humanity with your slavery to steam and steel, you narrow-minded technocrat!”
“There's hardly need for name-calling, Mamoru. We can have a civil conversation. I must say, I pity you. You've become so mired in your own childish beliefs. I've no quarrel with religion, within reason. I'm told it can provide a diverting hour or so out of the house. But you lunatics who take it too far, and try to bend others to it, deserve nothing more than death. I'd be doing the world a service to execute you. But I have a duty to the Empire.”
Mamoru lowered his head, slumping in his chains.
“Have you anything to say, Mamoru?” Kelvin asked and waited, watching the immobile priest. “Very well. You reap what you sow, old boy.”
“As do we all,” the samurai said in a low voice.
Kelvin indicated for the marine to open the cell, and they stepped outside. The prime minister turned back. “I fear you are in no position to have the last word any longer.”
The door slammed closed.
“JAGA AND HIS ndoki will fight because he has nowhere to live except the Rwenzori. If he is expelled, he will die. His kind cannot live among us in the lowlands.” King Msiri's firm hand anchored a map of the Rwenzori section of the Virunga Mountain chain. Unfortunately, much of the map was blank, particularly the central spine of the mountains labeled with the legend Jaga Grand Boma.
The king's field camp lay beside a lake in a wide mountain valley. A jagged cleft to the east beckoned with glacial slopes. The landscape had turned strange and otherworldly. The deep green foliage and red soil around Bunia had turned to pale green with black volcanic soil. The stunted forest was composed of black mahogany so overwhelmed by luxurious hanging moss that the trees seemed to be sinister old men with long beards and grasping fingers. The open ground was covered with grey lichen, and there were huge prehistoric lobelia with vast, hard, spiked petals. The ground was sodden and given to stretches of moor and mire with hummocks of high elephant grass.
A flimsy camp table wobbled in the center of the group consisting of the king, Princess Adele, Greyfriar, Colonel Anhalt, and General Ngongo. The general was a sturdy type, all business, without much expression in his voice or face. He was on an even keel at all times, much like his Equatorian comrade, Anhalt. He seemed quite at home in the foul weather in a heavy cloak covering his camouflage tunic and long kilt. Even in the mountain chill, he wore only sandals of heavy hide.
The conferencing party stood under a canvas shelter, barely protected from wind-driven sleet. This was a true military camp, not a royal jaunt. The king and his guests may have been somewhat warmer and drier than the rank and file, but Msiri's accommodations were lavish only to the extent that he felt it necessary to comport himself as the king and elevate himself over his men. His shirt and trousers were a heavy canvas, and he wore a leopard-skin blanket around his shoulders.
For her part, Adele had never been so cold. She wore a Katangan officer's uniform with a heavy fur wrap, but the ice-peppered air passed through as if it were chiffon. She tried to concentrate on the tactics with her jaw clenched tight to keep her teeth from chattering. None of the men seemed so miserable. Greyfriar especially was at home in the elements. His cloak fluttered like wings and he shifted his head subtly, which Adele knew was him scenting the air. Likewise Colonel Anhalt appeared unfazed by the weather; his topcoat was unbuttoned. She cursed at them all silently and began to wonder about the wisdom of her long-held dream to walk in snow. The baking sun of Egypt seemed a wonderful memory in this frigid place.
Anhalt laid a finger on the blank space on the map. “What do we know about Jaga's capital?”
“Little, as you see,” King Msiri replied. “Our mapping expeditions have been slaughtered and our airships have been shattered on the mountains. Their capital has never been seen by human eyes, as it is lost in the high mists. But we know it lies through that pass above us.”
Greyfriar said, “I will scout the area first to fill in your map.”
King Msiri regarded the swordsman. “Our finest hunters have tried, sir. They have failed. How can you, without knowing the land, do better?”
“I am better,” he replied without pretence.
Adele added, “He has survived in occupied Europe for years. And no one knows vampires as well.”
“My pardon, Your Highness,” General Ngongo said, his hands open before him, “but the Rwenzoris are a wild place whose inhabitants will kill a single man, even your man, quite easily. To go forward into the ndoki's domain in less than full force is madness, and death for whomever tries it.”
Msiri added, “We have two brigades of riflemen and three companies of heavy machine gunners. Granted, the mountain terrain precludes our using heavy artillery and armor, which conquered the savannah for us. But still, we have the general's Mountaineers to lead the way. They will scout and skirmish ahead. I have no intention of committing my main force without knowing what I am facing. On the other hand, I do not intend to return to Bunia without Jaga's head.”
Greyfriar retorted, “You realize that this place is completely favorable to them? They are light. They can attack without touching the ground. Their feet won't be sucked into the mud or leave tracks in the snow. Your men and your machines will be bogged-down cattle to them. Rather than going forward, an even better option, a safer option, would be for you to remove your population from around the mountains and starve them out.”
The king laughed without humor and shook his head at the swordsman. “We well know the terrain favors the enemy. But they don't have the decency to come down to face us. Your escapades in Europe are remarkable, but this is central Africa. Unlike you, a mysterious frontiersman who can come and go as you please, I am the king of a nation and of a people, and the commander of a great army. Do you imagine I can uproot hundreds of thousands of them from their homes without great repercussions? I should like to remain king, thank you.”
“Then let me scout,” Greyfriar argued. “I will determine the enemy positions and their strength. Why would you risk a blind fight?” Adele's silencing hand gripped his forearm, but he continued even more forcefully, afraid for her safety among these foolish warriors. “You are making a terrible mistake. If they number even a quarter of your forces, they will rip you to pieces.”
Msiri's tone hardened. “You gravely underestimate our fighting force. They are fully capable of destroying vampires.”
“Obviously not, or you would have accomplished that long before now.”
Adele exclaimed, “Greyfriar, please!”
“You know I'm right,” he said to her. “They are playing with your life!”
The tension in the tent was palpable. Adele dared not tempt the king's anger. Without his backing, they would have nowhere else to turn and would be forced back into wandering the terrible heat of the tropics. Too much was at stake. The cordon around Katanga was tight; the lost Equatorian ship and the privateer had shown them that.
“I must follow this path,” she said quietly. “There is no other recourse left to me.”
She had referenced only herself, meaning her hands were tied. He straightened stiffly and then gave a scant nod. “May I go, Princess?”
He wasn't asking for permission to leave the war council. He knew the situation they were both placed in. There was nothing he could do for her, hobbled as he was by the humans around him. He was asking her if he had leave to do as he needed. These men could not understand what he could do away from prying human eyes, but she did.
Adele stared at him, a little afraid to let him go. But she knew he was right. Finally, she nodded, her teeth capturing her lower lip nervously. She dropped her hand away from his arm and said softly, “Yes, you may go.” She mouthed the words, Be careful.
/> Adele watched him stride away from the table. Outwardly calm, she turned back to the others. “Gentlemen, your forgiveness. His war has been a lonely one; he is not used to collaboration.”
To her relief, King Msiri smiled to dispel the awkward moment. “We certainly understand. I wish he could do what he proposed. How much simpler to send one man rather than an expensive army of sons and fathers and husbands. Now, General Ngongo, we will hear your plans for proceeding.”
Adele glanced back, but did not see Greyfriar's tall form in the gathering dark.
No one saw Gareth leave the camp. It was simple enough for him to deposit Greyfriar's garb and weapons in Adele's baggage with a note that read “Greyfriar cannot protect you. But I can.” Then, clad in a dark shirt and trousers, barefoot in the clammy mud, he slipped past the better part of the Katangan army into the bush. Soon he rose into the battering wind, reveling again in the wildness. He could smell the army, so he knew any vampire within miles could as well. This war was a poorly conceived campaign, born of pride rather than need. King Msiri wanted to show strength to his people, but marching into the vampires' stronghold was a mistake. It was a massacre waiting to happen, with Adele at the heart of it.
Gareth wouldn't allow it. He was no longer interested in scouting the terrain for Msiri. Rather, he intended to find Jaga's people, as Gareth, so they could lead him to the Grand Boma, where he would kill the chief. This would cripple the ndoki's ability to resist the Katangans.
The ghoulish landscape of the Rwenzori passed below him as cottony tendrils of cloud wended their way between scabrous trees and insane groves of giant lobelia. The sleet drove sideways, and the wind was nearly too strong to fly in. Gareth had to guard against being smashed against the serrated rock faces around him, shifting his density constantly to remain steady.
He was a bit unnerved by his surroundings. He had never been so far south before. The scents of the plants were unfamiliar and the sounds of the animals were strange. The staggering scope of the mountains was on a scale with the Alps. This was a daunting task, but he was confident his skills would serve him here as in Europe.
Gareth caught the faint scent of blood, just a distant tang in his nostrils, before the ice drove it away. Humans. But not the Katangan soldiers. It came from higher in the mist. He had been told no humans lived this high, except for vampire herds, so the smell of blood meant the ndoki were near. Gareth wondered how to approach the strangers. He wanted to avoid combat if possible. Despite the cold weather, he was still not at his best due to lack of food.
He drifted up, propelling himself from crag to cliff. He caught more sporadic hints of blood and then some thin vampire scents. Gareth came to rest on a pinnacle above a pool of mist. Far below him, out of sight, were vampires and humans.
The prince crawled down the cliff into the cloud bank. He moved with decisive silence, listening intently, and heard voices. Vampires. The language was familiar, but still dissimilar from his own northern dialect. From what he could grasp, the local clan chief, the one Msiri called Jaga, had summoned all his subjects, no doubt in response to the invading army. Two as yet unseen vampires were complaining because bringing human meals to the clan gathering required their traveling by foot.
Gareth drew closer, and the smell of blood prodded his hunger. He had to silence a growl from deep in his throat. He felt as if he were hunting again, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey. Through the thinning fog, he finally saw two vampires beneath him. Tall and thin, one was dressed in simple loincloth, while the other wore a knee-length kilt. Even here, the vampires copied human dress. The two stood together near a wretched herd of five humans; three old men and two ancient women wrapped in filthy blankets. The humans squatted, sharing some dry food from a bag. They showed signs of having been fed from multiple times, which was rare in the north, were food was killed and wasted. If these thin-blooded, weak humans were representative of Jaga's herds, then perhaps the ndoki were indeed primed for destruction.
It wouldn't do to surprise the two, so Gareth called out. As they spun around, the tall prince dropped lightly to the frosty ground with hands up and no claws displayed. The two ndoki eyed him with curiosity.
One barked, “Name yourself!”
“I am Prince Gareth of Scotland, of the clan of Dmitri.”
“I don't know this Dmitri.”
“Nevertheless, he is a great king in the far north in a land where humans are slaves to vampires.”
The vampires exchanged confused glances and one sneered, “As here. In what useful land are humans not slaves?” They chuckled at Gareth's pointless boasting.
Gareth nodded. The ndoki never ventured out of their mountains except to raid. They had no memory of living side by side with humans, so any land they occupied, they dominated. By definition, human territory was as uninhabitable as the sea. Gareth's comment was ridiculous from their point of view.
Gareth said, “I would speak with King Jaga.”
“Why?”
“Who are you to ask? I am a prince.” He took a menacing step. “Take me to your king.”
The two travelers continued to observe him with slight smirks as they muttered to each other. It was quite insubordinate and disrespectful, and it rankled Gareth. He slowly extended his claws.
“No matter,” Gareth said, raising a clawed hand. “I'm content to kill you and find your king myself.”
They laughed with relaxed scorn. It wasn't out of ignorance. In fact, Gareth could see their cool demeanor was born from the confidence that they knew something he did not. Then he heard a sound from behind.
He glanced over his shoulder to see ten ndoki emerging from the mist. The sleet and chaotic winds had made it impossible to sense them. He lowered his claws. He had been trapped.
Gareth gave the first two ndoki a raised eyebrow of admiration and humility. “How long was I followed?”
They laughed even harder. “A long time, Prince. Perhaps years. Now you may see Jaga.”
The Grand Boma of Jaga was a group of caves set on an isolated plateau high in the mountains. Hundreds of vampires circled in the air and crouched on ledges. Humans milled about in the clearing between the caves. There were some signs of paltry agriculture in the thin soil leading up to the boma, proof that the ndoki kept permanent herds that labored to feed themselves. Jaga's herds were thin and starved. Even the most miserable stocks Gareth had seen shuffling through London appeared vigorous by comparison. The ndoki also seemed malnourished and hollow. Many wore remnants of clothing or fur, but a large number were naked, a sight that was rare in the north since the Great Killing.
Still, Gareth reminded himself, they were smart enough to trap him. He'd do well to fight his sense of superiority, as well as his disdain for his own kind that led him to think he was more clever than other vampires. He couldn't afford to fail by becoming smug.
When he landed with his escort, one of them screeched a loud greeting. Ndoki began to gather, fluttering down to clutch onto the rock faces and stare at the robust newcomer. The air filled with soft whispering.
A figure emerged from a large cave, no doubt the great Jaga. The vampire was tall, dark, and strong. He wore long strips of fur—leopard, gorilla, and various other animals—as well as a necklace of bones. His hair was long and tangled, and his beard was turning grey. He moved close to Gareth and smelled him. Behind Jaga came three women, much more vigorous than the typical ndoki. They wore strange cuirasses of human rib bones on their otherwise naked flesh, creating a startling effect, a grim style that Gareth thought Flay might have adopted to great advantage and set the whole of London fashion on its ear. He smiled slightly despite himself.
Jaga regarded the newcomer with surprise. “You seem cheerful so far from home.”
Gareth bowed and spoke in some semblance of the ndoki dialect, which he had begun to pick up from the conversations he had heard. “Are you Jaga?”
“You speak like an imbecile. Name yourself.”
“Gareth of Scotland.
Clan of Dmitri.”
Jaga turned around as he shouted to his surrounding clansmen, “Behold! An ambassador from the great clan of Dmitri come to join me in my impending triumph! The name of Jaga travels far!” The king cut a glance at Gareth. “I have never heard of your clan, but you're welcome anyway. Come. Eat.” He strode back into his cave.
“Ladies.” Gareth gave the females a charming nod. They laughed as if at the antics of a child or a fool and then fell in behind him.
Once inside the cave, Jaga settled on the hard ground and Gareth followed suit. A young vampire boy came over and looped a thin arm around Jaga's shoulder. The ndoki king gave the boy a playful nudge and patted him on the leg. The amazon trio stood nearby while commenting among themselves on Gareth's odd appearance.
“So,” Jaga said, “tell me about your herds.”
Gareth hesitated. That was a rare topic in the north where food was plentiful. “What do you want to know?”
“Are they large? And fat?”
“Yes.”
“Larger than mine?”
“I cannot say. I have not seen all your herds.” Gareth noticed a huge pile of human bones deeper in the cave, cast aside with the remnants of human possessions.
“True. My herds are vast. I claim all of the mountains.” Jaga looked sharply at the trio of females. “Where is the food? Can't you smell how hungry he is? Go!” The amazons departed, and the king said, “I hope you will find the meal satisfactory. I welcome the friendship of the family of Dmitri, wherever they are.”
“My clan is far.”
“You must be far; I've never seen your kind here. Why have you appeared to me now?”
“I was captive of Katanga, but I escaped.”
Jaga sat up. “What? The Katangans who come against me?”
Rift Walker, The (Vampire Empire, Book 2) Page 27