by James Somers
Upon entering Lycean’s throne room, Charlotte noticed the oil lamps flickering around the chamber. Lycean was old world all the way. He might have incorporated newer technologies, like gas lamps, at any time. But he liked doing things traditionally. The ancient Egyptian themes throughout the city certainly testified to his desire to live in the past.
A guard immediately took notice of her scent, as she had expected would be the case. Attempting to deceive either vampires or werewolves was folly. Out of all of the Descendant clans, they possessed the keenest sense of smell.
Charlotte brought a metal tube to her mouth and blew. A dart laced with the toxin of golden poison dart frogs hit the Lycan guard at the base of his neck just as his eyes found her. He didn’t even have time to call out. The guard’s eyes rolled back as he collapsed to the marble floor.
She waited a moment, listening for any other guards that were in the room. As expected, someone called to the first guard. She paused with the blowgun at her lips…then gave a quick exhale. The dart found the guard as he rounded the corner of a large statue dedicated to the former Lycan kings. He fell over with a heavy thump on the stone floor.
Pausing again, Charlotte listened. No other movements, breathing, or speaking was heard. She leaped to the lap of one of the giant statues lining the throne room then to the adjacent head of the next, using these as a way around the chamber to the high windows beyond. A quick palm thump to the plate glass shattered one of the windows without too much commotion. She exited the throne room to the roof of the palace, taking in a deep breath of night air.
One thing could be said for the city of the Lycans: it was kept clean. The valley surrounding Tidus was truly beautiful, even at night with its full moon casting light on the sandstone and marble buildings and fountains of waters. If not for the ever present scent of werewolves, she might have found it worth spending some time here.
Not that she would be welcome. The long standing hatred between the sons of Anubis and the sons of Hageddon could not be overcome so easily. The war between the Descendant clans, over a thousand years ago, had left wounds too difficult to heal.
Charlotte took in the night air for more than mere pleasantries. She hoped to pick up Brody’s scent, or at least the one closest to him. But if werewolves possessed finely developed senses, the Breed were equally adept. Their best trackers could find a person anywhere in London.
After nearly ten minutes of patient sampling, Charlotte finally caught Brody’s scent on the wind, as well as the stronger scent of the king’s daughter. Alexander had commanded her to obtain a bargaining piece with which to ply Brody’s cooperation with their efforts to free the Breed from Greystone. No other person could be considered more valuable in that regard than Lycean’s daughter.
They were both in the western wing of the palace, as near, as Charlotte could tell. However, taking Sophia would be more difficult than if Brody were elsewhere. The werewolf would put up a fight, to be sure, if she was not drugged. Brody, on the other hand, could not be drugged with the toxin of the poison dart frog like she was using on the Lycans. Being werewolves, the poison only rendered them unconscious for hours at a time. However, the toxin would likely kill Brody.
Charlotte wasn’t willing to take that chance. Not only did she still care for him as a friend, he was the one she hoped could open the portal into Greystone. Everything depended upon keeping the boy safe. She needed a diversion that might separate the two.
Kron had taken his evening meal alone, as usual. The king had just informed him about the recent attack upon the young ward of Oliver James, the death of the troll warrior and his plan to postpone the meeting of the clans in order to further ascertain the dangers presented by Grayson Stone. Those dangers, he felt, were highly exaggerated. In fact, he wondered why Lycean did not ally himself with this rising star among the Descendant clans.
Lord Grayson Stone had made his disdain for the vampires apparent on more than one occasion, or so Kron had been told. As far as he was concerned, that was reason enough to praise the man. If he could provide support to the Lycans they might finally destroy the accursed children of Hageddon and be done with them.
Already, the majority of vampires accessing the British Empire were trapped in Greystone with Tiberius. Still, Kron knew others were loose. He had picked up their foul scent on more than one occasion while in London recently. Rogues were common, but he knew others had broken away years ago to go further abroad to places like Russia, China and the Americas.
Whereas Black and Sinister had practically been bosom companions in their plans for London and the world, Lord Stone had nothing to do with the vampires. Kron had made mention of this information on more than one occasion, but Lycean remained stubbornly opposed to any dealings with him. The more he takes up with that boy, the softer Lycean becomes, Kron thought.
He stood at the window to his private apartment within the palace, overlooking one of the decorative gardens below. Moonlight played upon the fountains, furthering Kron’s agitation. “We concern ourselves with the daintiness of our kingdom, while our enemies plot against us,” Kron whispered.
“Too bad you’re not the king,” came a voice from the dark behind him.
Kron spun instantly with a dagger ready in each hand. A table lamp ignited on its own nearby, revealing the last person the Captain of the Guard had expected to see.
“Lord Stone,” Kron said, lowering his defense immediately. “What are you doing here?”
The rising star of both British and Descendant clan politics sat in a plain wooden chair with his fingers steepled before him. “I came to see you,” he said. “Word has it that your king intends to cancel our little summit.”
“How could you know that?” Kron asked. “That decision was made only a few hours ago.”
“You’ll find I’m well informed,” Grayson said with a grin. “Does it not disturb you how your king avoids the weightier matters that face your people? He wishes to refrain from dealing with your enemies, while both the vampires and the mortals pose substantial threats to your continued existence. Black forms a coalition with Tiberius while the Lycans are left to face whatever comes next for the world. How long before another coalition is formed that leaves out your people? How long will Lycean wait to act?”
“He did take some actions against Black,” Kron remembered. “The attack on the dolls…we swept through London.”
“But it was already past the point of no return,” Grayson countered, coming to his feet. “The attack had to be aborted. Your leader failed to act quickly and decisively. It wasn’t you who defeated Black but the boy, and now he dictates to Lycean what will and will not be. You know this to be true, don’t you, General Kron?”
Kron felt dizzy. His gaze was fastened upon Lord Stone. He felt adrift in the sea, and Grayson was the only anchor point. The man’s words melted like honey in his ears, caressing his mind, subduing his thoughts.
Of course. He could see everything clearly now. The vampires and humans were plotting the extermination of his race. And his king, Lycean, was weak-willed, peace loving and cowardly. A man of war was needed to lead his people. As Grayson Stone spoke, it all made perfect sense. Why had he not seen matters so clearly before?
“Can your people really afford to delay necessary action?” Grayson added. “How can you, a revered warrior among the Lycans, stand back while your people are dying? Shouldn’t you do something? Doesn’t this dire situation make you the rightful king?”
The fog that enveloped Kron’s thoughts began to diminish. And there, waiting for him in the midst like a shining beacon of pure logic, stood Lord Grayson Stone. “You’re right,” Kron said. “I have to act before it’s too late to save them.”
Kron turned away, walking toward the door. He seemed to have already forgotten Grayson’s presence in the room. He opened the door and walked out quietly.
“Go and fulfill your glorious purpose,” Grayson whispered after him. As he disappeared, the lamp light winked out.
With all that was going on right now, Lycean felt the transformation itching to unfold. This was his opportunity to leave behind the politics and embrace the feral side for a few hours. It would be even better, if he happened to find prey along the way. There was nothing like the hunt.
He scrunched his toes in the cool grass as he walked toward the edge of the city. Many Lycans came out on nights like this. The gardens were almost always occupied, but hardly any of his subjects bothered to leave the city for the open valley, or the forest beyond the great river. That made it perfect for the privacy he desired.
His daughter had become more and more preoccupied with Brody, as their relationship became serious. Lycean sighed. His daughter was growing up. If Brody asked for her hand in marriage sometime soon, it wouldn’t surprise him. And he knew the boy was a good match for her. He wasn’t a Lycan, of course, but maybe that was part of his appeal to her.
At any rate, she would always be his daughter and the one heir to his throne. Brody would make a good ruler at her side, not to mention a powerful Descendant whom even Oliver had guessed might become as talented as any they had ever known. He would love her and have the ability to protect her.
Lycean smiled at the thought and sighed again. It was entirely too early to be concerned with matters like courtship and marriage. After all, his kingdom was in danger, as well as all of the Descendant clans. And Lord Grayson Stone was right in the middle of it all.
He shook his head to clear his mind. “Run now, worry later,” he decided. Lycean took up a jogging pace, then increased his speed as he approached the wall. He might have exited at a gate, but that wasn’t as much fun. When he reached the perimeter, he bounded up and away from several angular surfaces and then cleared the height of the wall entirely. He transformed in midair, coming down in the form of a sleek, muscular brown wolf. He howled once in exaltation and then tore off through the grassy valley toward the river in the distance.
The scent of game came into his nostrils like the aroma of fine food from his royal kitchens. This was the musk of wild roe—alive and warm. Anticipation of the chase ran through him and Lycean increased his pace.
In seconds, he was racing over one of the foot bridges that had long ago been erected over the river. His paws padded the wooden planks in three quadruplet beats before touching down in the cool grass on the other side. Rushing water, passing over and around the river stones, faded quickly as Lycean the wolf passed into the foliage of the forest beyond.
Charlotte lighted upon one of Tidus’s armories. The stone building was plain looking so as not to attract attention to what it was. In fact, Charlotte would not have been able to locate it, except for the scent of gunpowder that came from within. It was unlike the Lycans, with their old world ways, to keep the more modern weapons of mortal invention, but Lycean was no fool. If some sort of conflict did arise between his people and the mortals, he would not be found unprepared.
Charlotte dropped from the roof in human form right in front of the locked door. Using her vampire’s strength, she pressed her shoulder against the door until the metal bolt bent sufficiently to pop free of its housing. Charlotte stepped inside and closed it again—all with minimal noise.
As it happened, Lycean evidently did not trust that someone would not be able to infiltrate his beloved city and get to his cache of weapons. Two guards were waiting inside. Her scent must have alerted them to her presence. They were already walking from their table, where they had been sitting eating a meal, by the time she rounded the corner.
Charlotte hit the leading guard with a dart before being spotted. The second had his weapon in hand, transforming into his half-wolf-half-human form, by the time she shot the second dart. He reverted back to a completely human form as unconsciousness laid him out next to his fellow.
Walking throughout the building, Charlotte found a multitude of racks holding rifles, as well as boxes upon boxes of ammunition. There were crates with all manner of pistols and other assorted firearms. With his great wealth as King of the Lycans, Lycean had purchased weapons from all over the mortal world.
Charlotte suddenly realized that Lycean may not have been preparing for a war with mortals at all. Perhaps these weapons were actually meant for a conflict with her people. Vampires were fast, but not faster than bullets. With well trained reflexes and preternatural eyesight, a Lycan army outfitted with such an arsenal might decimate the ranks of her father’s Breed army.
Her plan to use this armory as a diversion had seemed opportunistic moments ago. Now, the destruction of this place was imperative. The very survival of her people might depend on what she was about to do.
Charlotte went back to the table where the guards had been eating and enjoying a game of Senet. A single kerosene lamp resided on the table to provide the guards with light while they were on duty. That was all she would need.
Picking up that lamp, Charlotte walked back to a stack of crates marked Explosives. She surveyed the chamber and the unconscious guards nearby. They would not be able to save themselves with the toxin in their systems. And she had no time to save them and get back to her quarry. Their deaths might certainly be brought up to her later, by Brody, but his willing cooperation was no longer her goal. That ship had sailed, forcing her to this desperate course of action.
Giving one final look at the two Lycan guards, she whispered, “Collateral damage.”
Charlotte hurled the lamp at the stack of crates. The glass bell shattered, throwing kerosene across the crates and the floor. As hoped, the flame raced after its fuel source, bathing the explosives crates in fire. Racing to the door in human form, she kicked it out of her way and took to the air as a raven, speeding toward the palace.
Behind her, the concrete armory shattered like a porcelain vase. She heard several series of ongoing explosions, like Chinese fireworks, creating a cacophony of chaos and destruction that was sure to draw everyone in Tidus. She had to get back to the palace in time to catch Brody and Sophia. Hopefully, her diversion would send him one way and her the other.
Lycean passed through tall trees in the dark, scenting his way toward his prey. Its musk was like a siren’s call, leading him on through the black pillars of the nighttime forest. As he crept ever closer, the forest became quiet. Birds and smaller animals were aware of him, but they sounded no warning cry.
Moonshine bathed the clearing ahead. Lycean came to its tree line border and paused. There in the clearing, the roe raised its head, searching. He didn’t make a sound. This was the moment of clarity, the moment before he bolted like a spring to run down his prey and pounce upon it. He would sink his fangs into its flesh, crushing its windpipe to suffocate the animal until it fought for life no more.
Every corded muscle in his lean frame tensed in anticipation. He lunged forward into the clearing. He was nearly halfway to the roe when it spotted him. The frightened beast tried to bolt away. Lycean prepared to alter his trajectory in pursuit, but something unexpected occurred.
The roe stumbled. It could not leap away, though it was trying desperately to do so. A cord held it fast to the ground. Lycean realized this was no common snare. The beast had been staked out in this clearing as bait.
Lycean skidded to a halt, becoming half human in form. He searched the trees for the one who had set this trap. That would be the obvious place where his adversary, whomever they might be, would attack from.
He heard an arrow shaft splitting the air and lunged sideways. Even with his preternatural eyes, Lycean only barely registered two arrows in flight. He was too late to do anything about it now. Pain flashed through his shoulder. One arrow
had passed him. The other had been released at the same time, naturally heading on a slightly different path. That arrow had caught him just before he could get away.
Lycean realized who the assassin was before he entered the clearing with his bow ready and another arrow nocked to the string. This signature shot belonged to only one person he knew. He returned to his fully human form.
“Kron!” Lycean bellowed.
Blood was dripping from the wound, but not as much as it might have. Still, the arrow head was lodged securely in Lycean’s shoulder joint, preventing him from using his right arm. The wounded appendage could only dangle uselessly at his side.
“What is the meaning of this?” Lycean shouted as Kron’s bow remained trained on him. Clearly, if there had been any hope that his Captain of the Guard had made some unfortunate mistake by shooting his king, it was dashed to pieces with every step closer he took. There was no sorrow in Kron’s eyes—only a grim determination to kill the wounded man before him.
Lycean stopped asking what Kron was doing in favor of the more sinister question. “Why, Kron?”
His captain paused a handful of paces away.
“Because your inaction will doom our people,” Kron said. “You pretend we may have peace, when war is at our doorstep. You seek to accuse the one great Descendant who would champion our cause.”
“Who?” Lycean asked. “Stone? Did he put you up to this? Did he make you promises of lies. You can’t possibly believe what he says, Kron, he—”
Kron felt a painful thrumming sensation in his head at the king’s questioning. The Captain of the Guard released the bowstring. His arrow burst through Lycean’s breastbone, silencing his king’s questions forever. The aching within his skull subsided as his liege collapsed onto the dewy grass of the meadow. Even the frightened roe had stopped its struggling to watch Lycean’s passage from the world.