The Stone Warriors: Nicodemus

by D. B. Reynolds

  All four opened their mouths to laugh, but only screams emerged from their throats as unseen knives slashed through their clothes and bit into their skin, as heat boiled their guts until their stomachs split open and spilled charred lengths of innards over their thighs and onto the ground where they lay shrieking in agonized terror.

  “Please,” the leader gasped, stretching out a broken and blood- soaked hand to beg.

  “I knew another man like you,” Nico growled. “The only difference is that I didn’t kill him before I walked away. And I wish to the gods that I had.”

  Then he walked away, deaf to the howls of the thieves who still clung to life, though they wouldn’t for long. Their cries still rang in his ears, but he’d already forgotten them as he strode down the dark streets, his thoughts obsessing over what he’d said to their leader. He hadn’t killed Sotiris, though there were many times he could have. He’d always chosen to walk away, to permit Sotiris to walk away, in the vain hope that his enemy would see the futility of what he was doing, and stop. It had been a mistake, and if he came face to face with the monster, he wouldn’t make it again. There’d be no walking away for Sotiris the next time, he vowed.

  IF NICO HAD BEEN tired and depressed before the attack, he was doubly so after. He’d killed those four pathetic men, seeing parallels between them and Sotiris. But they weren’t the fucking sorcerer. They were killers, no doubt of that, and he had no regrets about taking their lives, confident that he’d saved others by doing so. But they were fleas on a goat’s back compared to Sotiris.

  So when he heard more footsteps shadowing his trail, he stopped walking and spun to face his stalker. What he wanted, all he wanted, was to go back to the hotel and drink the bottle of cognac Monsieur Tasse had promised would be waiting in his suite at the hotel.

  The man Nico found when he turned was not who he expected. His stalker stood several feet away, well-dressed and smiling, as if they were long-lost cousins finally reunited.

  “What?” Nico demanded, letting his power simmer just below the surface where it would be undetectable but ready for his use.

  The man gave an appreciative gasp that came out as a long, “Ahhhhhh.” He then clasped his hands before him and whispered, “Mon Dieu, vous êtes spectaculaire.”

  Nico spat out a heartfelt “Fuck,” and said, “Non, merci.”

  The man stared at him in confusion for a moment, then laughed . . . he laughed and continued in French, “No, no. I’m simply admiring the power of your magic. I’ve never seen the like.”

  Nico stared, then belatedly used his own senses to determine that the man was indeed . . . not a sorcerer, but definitely a strong magic user. He chose his next words carefully, wanting to discover if Sotiris was, by some chance, operating in the city. And if not Sotiris, then anyone else who might have useful information for him. “You have no sorcerers living in Paris?”

  “Of course. But none as powerful as you. You must come with me to meet our leaders.”

  “Your leaders. Not mine.”

  The man shrugged. “Ah, forgive me. You are new to Paris, and so don’t understand. But come with me, and it will all be explained.”

  “What will be explained?”

  “Why, the war against our people. Were you not touched by this where you come from?”

  “What war? Who are you fighting?”

  “The vampires, of course. You really must come meet our leaders. They will explain everything, and be most appreciative of your assistance.”

  Nico didn’t want anything to do with someone else’s war, nor did he have any interest in meeting anyone who considered themselves to be a leader. But he did want to meet someone who might have information about Sotiris, even if he wasn’t currently in the city. And if these leaders truly did lead, they’d have registered the presence in their city, however brief, of a sorcerer that powerful. “Very well,” he agreed. “How far is it?”

  “No distance at all. Come, we will walk.” The stranger started to leave, then turned back and said, “Forgive my rudeness. I haven’t introduced myself. I am Vital Bellamy.”

  Nico considered using a fake name for all of two seconds. What would be the point? He’d already used his real name—more or less—at the hotel and among his new acquaintances. Besides, if anyone knew his history and wanted to challenge him? Let them try. And if Sotiris had a spy who reported to him? Well then, all the better. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands on the cowardly fuck.

  “Nicholas Katsaros,” he said now. “Lead the way, Monsieur Bellamy.”

  True to Bellamy’s word, their destination wasn’t far, although it was still more of a detour than Nico wanted to make. He only hoped it would be worth the effort to get there. He was torn between the hope that it would be fruitful, and the certainty that it would end up dragging him into a war he had no interest in. Especially as it seemed likely he was the most powerful sorcerer in the city. If he got involved, the others would automatically look to him for direction, and that would only take time away from his true purpose.

  On the other hand, “hate” wasn’t too strong a word to describe his feelings toward vampires. There had been vampires in his own world. They’d peddled nothing but terror and sold their services to the highest bidder. As far as he knew, their social structure consisted solely of small tribes who lived and hunted together, and when they worked, they did that as a unit, too.

  Nicodemus himself had never used them, but he’d fought others who had. Vampires were mostly used off the battlefield to weaken the opposing force. They’d been known to kidnap soldiers and either drain them of blood and leave them to die, or after draining the soldier’s blood, they would replace it with their own, thus “turning” the human soldier into one of their own . . . a vampire.

  Nico had actually designed a spell that was a “cure” for vampirism. He couldn’t completely undo what had been done to them, but he could lessen the effects. In fact, when his warrior Gabriel had come to him, he’d been suffering under the curse of vampirism, after being kidnapped and tortured by vampires while fighting under his father’s banner. The greatest warrior in his part of the world, he’d been forced to serve his vampire overlords—hating every minute, yet bound by their shared blood to serve his master. It had been Nico’s magic-driven call to battle that had freed Gabriel, in a way.

  He’d heard Nico’s call and had escaped his master, not caring if doing so would end his life. Despising what he’d become, he would have welcomed death if it was the only freedom he could find. Instead, he’d found Nico, whose magic had broken the vampire master’s hold. Gabriel no longer needed to drink blood to survive, and while he preferred cloudy days, the sun no longer had the power to destroy him. The power of Nico’s magic had saved more than Gabriel’s life. It had saved his soul, and his spirit. Now, Nico could only imagine what Sotiris’s vicious spell might have wrought on the proud warrior.

  But though Nico hated vampires, he would have preferred to avoid them altogether, rather than join in a war against them. They simply weren’t his priority. His plan was only to find Antonia and his warriors. And he would keep going, keep traveling from world to world, until he did find them . . . or at least one of them. And then onto the next, and next. He would never stop searching, no matter what it took, until they were all free and together again.

  When Monsieur Bellamy finally stopped in front of a townhouse that appeared older than many in the city, Nico stepped into the street so he could look up at it. The building resembled the one where Dorian lived with his family, but it was much narrower, with exterior stone that was blackened by soot and age, and a decorative façade that was crumbling on the edges and corners, diminishing whatever impression the long-ago builder had desired to make.

  If this townhouse was where the leader of the city’s sorcerers resided, he wasn’t impressed.

  Monsieur Bellamy
must have noticed his reaction, because he grinned and said, “It’s much nicer inside. You’ll see.”

  Having come this far, Nico wasn’t about to walk away because of a shabby house. When someone opened the door a bare crack in response to Bellamy’s knock, he stepped up to stand next to him. And when the door opened wider, and they both left the cold night behind, he understood what Bellamy had meant about the inside being nicer. The floors were marble, the walls papered with a fine cloth he couldn’t name, and the twisting stairway in front of him, while narrow, was covered with what in Nico’s world would have been a finely woven carpet. Brass rods held the carpet in place and were matched by brass detailing on the black-painted bannister. Above him, an elaborate chandelier sparkled with an unknown number of clear cut crystal ornaments, each of which supported a burning wax candle.

  Impressed by the beauty of the interior, he wasn’t prepared for their host to call from an adjoining room, “Don’t just stand there gawking, Bellamy. Introduce me to whatever stranger you’ve trusted enough to bring into our nest. I only hope you know what you’ve done.”

  Nico’s attention was caught by the word “nest,” since vampires had been known to use that term for their group living arrangements. But since snakes were also known to invade birds’ nests and eat the eggs, he let the comment pass, with prejudice. He would hold on to his suspicion, until proven otherwise.

  “Monsieur Katsaros,” Bellamy urged. “Come meet our leader.”

  Not my leader, Nico thought again, but he kept silent, willing to hold onto his judgment until he knew more. Following his erstwhile friend into the next room, he found an unkempt man of an indeterminate age—other than that he was obviously much older than Nico—sitting on a small sofa like the one in his hotel room. Only the man Bellamy called his leader was sitting in the middle of the sofa, surrounded by a mess all around him. Nico would have understood if the man had been encircled by notes and inkpots. He himself had been known to sink into untidiness when in the midst of designing a new spell. But it appeared that the “leader,” who still remained nameless, had no servants or staff to assist him, because on both sides were plates of half-eaten food, and the sofa’s fabric was stained from previous repasts. He didn’t dare guess which meal the various foods represented, except that they’d all been prepared hours, rather than minutes, ago.

  The man slurped from a glass of red wine, stared narrow-eyed at Nicodemus, and said, “Who’s this?”

  Bellamy drew breath to respond, but Nico beat him to it. “I’m Nicholas Katsaros. Who are you?” The words were rude, but then, the question had been rude, too.

  The man’s eyes flared briefly with power, but if he’d expected Nico to quail at the sight of it, he was badly mistaken. Nico waited patiently, unaffected by either the power or the man, and letting him know it.

  Obviously trying to interrupt the growing tension, Bellamy stepped between them, and turning to his leader said, “Monsieur Charron, may I introduce Nicholas Katsaros, newly arrived in Paris, and”—he turned to Nico,—“Monsieur Katsaros, our leader, the sorcerer Hadrien Charron.”

  Nico managed not to scoff out loud. If Charron was a sorcerer, he must have barely made the cut for that designation. He wouldn’t have qualified in Nico’s world. But Nico chose to remain polite in the face of Charron’s crudeness. Murmuring, “A pleasure,” Nico bent his head the tiniest measure he could manage, while still calling it a bow.

  True to form, Charron scowled and asked, “Why’d you bring him here?” The question was obviously directed at Bellamy, even though Charron’s gaze never left Nico.

  Bellamy fidgeted and gave Nico an uneasy glance. Bellamy clearly knew that Nico’s power was greater than Charron’s. Far greater. Finally, Bellamy said, “Monsieur Katsaros is a sorcerer. He could be . . . helpful in our struggle against the vampires.”

  Feeling for him, Nico didn’t comment, although privately he had no intention of being recruited into anyone’s struggle, no matter the enemy.

  “Sorcerer?” Charron scoffed. “His people must judge power by a means inferior to ours, then, because he—”

  He got no further, because Nicodemus had had enough. His power rose in a brief, but undeniable display, which had Charron shrinking back against the sofa, one hand raised against the brilliant flare which Nico had permitted to highlight the release of his power. It was the sort of thing he’d have used to intimidate enemy soldiers in his world, not other magic-users. It had never been necessary. But apparently the number of magic users in this world had dwindled so deeply that the few who remained had no appreciation for, or knowledge of, true sorcerous power.

  Charron struggled to his feet, face twisted in rage, when he raised his own power in a threatening manner. “What kind of devil’s creature is this that you bring into my home?”

  “Devil?” Nico mocked lightly. “Are you not a sorcerer, monsieur? And is your power thus the work of the devil?”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Why then would you accuse me of consorting with such? Like you, I am a sorcerer. I draw magic from the world around me.”

  Charron stared. “But you hold too much for this world. There’ve been no sorcerers that strong since . . .” He shrugged, searching for the answer. “There’ve been none in my lifetime, though there are stories that tell us they once existed.”

  Nico nodded in agreement. “Where I come from, there is a great deal more magic available than what you have here. I don’t know why. But when I arrived, at the end of a long and difficult journey, it took me much longer to rebuild my strength than it would have at home.”

  “Where is your home, then?”

  Nico sighed and considered what to say. If Charron thought Nico’s relatively simple display of power had been so overwhelming that he’d accused him of consorting with devils, then Nico could only imagine what he’d think about a spell that could spin a man between worlds and time. Charron seemed to accept his explanation that there was more magic available where Nico came from. But would he accept that it wasn’t another country or state, but another world?

  Worried that any attempt to explain the true situation would only delay his quest, Nico made up a story, instead. “My home lies in the mountains to the east and north of your country. The journey was long and difficult. It was foolish of me to undertake it on my own.”

  “And yet, God saw you safely here,” Bellamy observed. “Perhaps He wanted you to reach Paris, knowing that your power was needed to cleanse the city of vampires, who are surely the devil’s minions.”

  Charron grunted his agreement, although it seemed less than heartfelt to Nico. He suspected the leader would have preferred that God dump his body in a deep ravine somewhere. Bellamy, however, seemed to be enamored with his theory of divine intervention, and was eyeing his leader with barely suppressed excitement.

  Nico cared little as to Charron’s opinion of him, or for that matter, what use he might make of Nico’s skills. He was just waiting for a more or less polite opportunity to depart, so he could go back to his hotel, have a glass of cognac, and sleep for several hours. And upon waking, he fully intended to block all memory of the local magic-users and their war with vampires.

  The unexpected slap of Charron’s hands on his thighs was so loud and sharp that even Nico was startled at the sound. His gaze swung to the French sorcerer, though he managed to compose his expression into one of mild interest rather than surprise.

  “Bellamy’s correct,” the big man announced. “We can use your skills against the vampires. They outnumber us rather badly, and they’re able to replace any losses in a single night. The number of magic users in Paris has been dwindling for years, and unlike the vampires, we cannot produce new recruits at will. Your power will be most welcome. You will be commanding—”

  Nico held up a blocking hand. “I’ve no desire to command anyone, Monsieur Charron. It’s not eve
n clear to me that this is a war I should be involved with. My reason for leaving the comfort and safety of my home and traveling to this city was to locate a cousin, who set out months before I did, and has never been heard from again. But Paris is a huge city, which is difficult enough, and my own experience in getting here tells me that he may not have been as fortunate as I was in arriving safely.”

  “Is your cousin also a sorcerer?” Charron’s florid face took on a greedy expression.

  “He is, but you’ll find him even less eager than I am to become embroiled in your vampire war. I am nonetheless set on finding him, or if not that, at least discovering his fate. That search is likely to eventually take me out of Paris permanently, so you can surely see why I want to avoid entanglements that would complicate my departure.”

  Bellamy gasped. “But Monsieur—”

  “I understand, of course,” Charron interrupted. “If I were on a similar quest, I would do the same. But think on it, Monsieur Katsaros. As you said, finding one man in a city this large is a daunting task. You could very well remain in Paris for months, if not longer. The vampires will sniff you out eventually, whether you join us or not. It is in your best interest, as well as ours, to do what you can to exterminate them.”

  The bastard had a point, though Nico would never admit it. But he wasn’t quite as lost in terms of finding Sotiris as Charron might believe. The spell which had brought him to Paris had been made with more urgency than thought. The next one would have to be more deliberately planned if he hoped to follow Sotiris to where Antonia and his warriors were being held. The question remained as to whether Sotiris himself knew where the four warriors were, but he had no such doubts when it came to Antonia. The bastard would know where she was, would know where he’d put her, which meant he would at least want to maintain a watch on her, and maybe visit her on occasion.

  If Nico found Sotiris, he would find Antonia. He had to learn how the spell worked, so he could choose his destination, even if it meant following Sotiris from place to place. He’d already decided to remain in the city long enough to break down Sotiris’s spell until he could use it toward his own ends, but Charron didn’t need to know that.