“An old friend has come out of retirement.” Haures replied, as if that answered anything at all. “I’ll handle her.”
“Is she dangerous?” Falkner recalled his training and tried to calm himself through meditative breathing. “You’ve already got that Inquisitor and her pet sorcerers, the Night Guard and Caelites after you. We don’t need anyone else after us. We should lay low.”
Not all of us sold our soul for your twisted immortality just to throw ourselves upon our enemies.
Haures stalked towards the dust-covered bookshelf and his fingers traced the spines of the tomes stored there, not deigning to look at him. “Indeed, but we need only stay one step ahead of them. With any luck they’ll get in each other’s way.”
Falkner laughed without humour. “That’s not a sound long-term strategy. Surely you know that.”
“Long-term?” The necromancer offered a sidewards glance. “We need only survive a day, perhaps two ahead. Then it won’t matter. I don’t plan to linger in this miserable city much longer.” His finger stopped upon the spine of tome at random and he pulled the book backwards, triggering a stone mechanism within the building. He felt the shuddering of the room as a hidden passageway revealed itself and an icy chill rushed up to meet them which almost extinguished the pitiful fire. The steps lead down into the darkness beneath the city.
“You’d better keep up your end of the bargain. If I don’t get Vara back then none of this matters.”
“You won’t get her. Not yet.”
Falkner’s hand became a blur, his conjured blast of air threw Haures into the wall. In a flash he found himself with a knife held against his throat. “Maybe this would kill you maybe it wouldn’t but I’m interested in testing it. Don’t take me for a fool Haures; if you won’t give me what I want then I’ve got nothing to lose.”
“You’ve got your freedom Falkner.” Haures reached slowly for the knife and pulled it away without breaking eye contact. “As I’ve already explained if I bring her back now you’d regret it.”
“Try me.”
“Do you really want the woman you love bound to my will? Forever tethered to my soul?”
Falkner hesitated and relinquished his grip.
“I thought not.” The Inquisitor brushed himself down and grabbed a pair of torches off the nearby wall, before lighting them on the fire “You might think me a monster but my work will change the world for the better.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“And I mean it.” The Inquisitor held out one of the torches which Falkner took thanklessly. “Resurrection is not an easy process. It has costs, there are strings attached to it. For such a high price anything less than perfection will not suffice. We’re so close now, I can feel it.”
The Caelite followed down the steps in silence, cursing himself for ever listening to the traitor before him. Every time he’d sworn to himself to never listen, to never be taken in the persuasive Inquisitor had found a different path.
Perhaps he has compelled me like the cultists he keeps and the vampires he’s so fascinated by. Perhaps I’m not really as free as he claims. It was an insidious thought that wouldn’t leave him, he’d witnessed the compelling psychic powers first hand; forcing the most murderous brute on bended knee. What assurance did he have that he was not infected with the same psychic impulse that dominated the others? Would he even know? His only sliver of hope was that the silver-tongued Inquisitor favoured tact and subtlety rather than brute force. He’d only forced the dangerous and insane to his will and taken the rest in with honeyed promises and a sense of worth and value. Assaulting a heavily defended prison island on dragonback to rescue the empire’s worst criminals felt like the last straw at the time; but he was again following blindly.
“I don’t see how these new subjects will help.” Falkner managed at last. At first he’d supposed they’d be replacements for the cultists lost during the attacks of Caelholm but Haures seemed more interested in research.
“You will soon enough. We’re almost at a breakthrough.”
They stopped at the bottom of the stairs as Haures traced a runic symbol across the stone door blocking the corridor. With a faint discharge of magical energy the glyph on the otherwise featureless door flashed pale blue before fading. As the door slid into a recess in the wall a hidden basement filled with empty coffins, and surgical equipment came into view lit only by the flickering torch. Besides an overwhelming smell of formalin and preservatives there was a familiar scent of perfume.
“Gods only know what you and that Norwood madwoman hope to accomplish.” He waved his hand pointedly towards the stacked crates and filth encrusted glass jars scattered through the room. Whilst they all appeared to be empty and lacking the sorts of strange organs and disgusting body parts floating within them that he’d expected, their unwashed appearance suggested this was a recent change.
“Doctor Norwood.” Haures replied without paying the traitor Caelite much mind as he rifled through the papers stacked on a makeshift desk. His eyes flicked through the contents of a fresh autopsy form signed in the illegible handwriting of the closest thing they had to a doctor. “Besides the gods have no interest in anything we do here. You should know that by now if Caelholm proved anything at all.”
“Enough with your blasphemy.” Falkner’s anger felt hollow, his words lacking substance. Perhaps the gods have decided to punish my heresy by forcing me to live in hiding with you for the rest of my life.
“Must you both be so loud?” Morana Norwood stepped through one of the doors leading to other parts of the underground complex and stalked across the chamber. Her greasy long black hair tied up into a tight bun as a begrudging nod towards practicality and served to accentuate her sharp humourless face. Beady grey eyes peered out from behind her thin-rimmed glasses with all the warmth of the coldest winters back home. Her overcoat fastened tight was once white but now a stained dull-grey splashed with preservatives and other less pleasant fluids. “Your subjects so far have been less than satisfactory.”
“And why is that doctor?” Haures replied with a resigned sigh. He returned the clipboard filled with autopsy papers to the chipped and stained table.
“Most of them are either malnourished, rife with more diseases than I can count or hardly human at this point. Giving any of them the gift seems a waste of potential. Some of them died outright when I attempted to administer it.” Morana was tall and thin, almost spider-like yet she commanded a firm and dangerous presence that made Falkner’s skin crawl. He found himself repulsed and reflexively pulled away from her anytime she drew near — she was a vampire of many years with all the quickness and precision that entailed. She was almost attractive — the plainness of features enhanced by the dark gift but her mannerisms and demeanour triggered a primal sense of fear and distrust in most. Her blood-thirst focused itself upon medical experimentation and the cruel tasks the cults required rather than feral savagery. It was a small comfort she rarely smiled, even a glimpse of her off-white jagged teeth filled Falkner with reservation and a sense of dread. He wasn’t even sure if she had fangs like the folklore claimed; she’d scoffed at the idea but it was a morbid curiosity.
“They’re disposable and won’t be missed. Finding you better subjects takes more time and resources than we can spare.” Haures watched her carefully as she went about collecting additional jars and rinsing the scalpels in her pocket with a rusty faucet. For all his confidence even he found her cause for concern.
“Just not good enough. Either find me better subjects or the results of someone who has. I’m sure Lord Strigoi and his pet doctor have plenty of research papers and forbidden lore up in that mansion of his.” She spun around and pointed the dripping scalpel in their direction. “And not to mention the smell! Give them a bath or something.”
“You’ll have to make do for now. Lord Strigoi won’t simply hand me his research papers.”
With a sneer she wiped the scalpels on a drab bit of cloth. “And you call yoursel
f an Inquisitor? We aren’t going to make much headway here otherwise if you still want those answers.”
“Of course—”
“—I’ll do what I can for now but that’s the best option.” Despite the finality of her tone Falkner couldn’t help himself.
“Don’t be absurd. How are we supposed to—”
Morana raised a hand to silence them. “Not my problem. You’ll have to get creative.”
Falkner and Haures exchanged an exasperated look; they’d risked almost everything assaulting Brinestone. Smuggling the prisoners into Kriegsfeld was no less dangerous. Morana cared for none of their effort, reluctance or troubles; only that her research continue. Satisfied she stalked off towards one of her operating theatres and hesitated as her hand reached for the handle. “Oh yes, do something about those Caelite friends of yours. They’ve been poking their noses around and killed some of my assistants. That won’t do.”
With one final withering glare towards Falkner she departed. It was all too easy to remember why he’d taken an instant dislike to her the first time they’d met. Unlike the other criminals hiding under Haures’ wing she was cruel and predatory rather than weak or broken. Possessing a sharp mind honed into a knife; ready to lash out at anyone around her.
There was a lingering silence for some time after she left.
“So all that was for nothing?” Falkner’s shoulders sagged and he could feel the stiffness in his muscles ache in protest. The undead dragon was far from a luxury ride between the hard scales and total exposure to the freezing and damp air. Not to mention the burns from Razakel’s near misses with his accursed magic.
Haures cupped his forehead with his left hand and sighed. “Perhaps not all for nothing.” His fingers ran back through his greying hair as he thought. “She’s right about one thing — those Caelites of yours are becoming too great a problem to ignore. I don’t care how you deal with them just get them off our backs so we’ve got some time to think.”
Falkner bit his lip. Captain Reiner Soranus was a royal pain in the arse at the best of times but he had a resourcefulness and a determination Falkner came to respect over the years. There would be no persuading him to leave, no way to change his loyalty, he was loyal to the core to commander Rhae. Reiner wouldn’t make it easy, he never did; leaving Falkner with precious few options.
“And what will you do?” He despised the Inquisitor but watching his plans unravel before them did not fill him with joy; like it or not their fates now intertwined. “We’re running out of time.”
“I know.” Haures sat down on the nearest available bench, knocking fraying papers to one side. “I’ll think of something. There is no turning back now; we press on, for better or for worse.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The Night Guard were if nothing else, thorough; as Reiner oversaw the interrogation of their prisoner it soon became clear they were wasting their time. Officer Hoffman spent the past hour and a half questioning the cultist who offered little that they hadn’t already heard. Still just as convinced as before that their cause was just and their struggle to cheat death was worthwhile. He answered in that same knowing manner. The intensity of the overhead lamp and the chill within the air did little to deflate his lofty demeanour. He simply smiled and spoke vague nothings in the irritating self-righteous rhetoric Reiner already loathed. He refused to give up the location or names of his cultist cell which came as no surprise. It was small consolation that this prisoner had yet to bleed without warning and die like his surviving peers from the siege of Caelholm. Their working hypothesis was that all the cultists fell victim a fatal psychic-impulse sent sometime after the attack. Their brains burned out as a counter-measure to avoid interrogation. Each of the bodies recovered from Lychgate bore the same tattooed marking on their skin, cold to the touch; each mark small and subtle. The tattoo a secret conduit to facilitate Haures’ insurance plan. Amelia reckoned the psychic-impulse was no simple task and required the utmost concentration. She believed this explained the lengthy window between Haures escape and the culling of his thralls. Perhaps he was unable to perform the ritual whilst escaping across the Endless ocean on dragonback. If that were true then it would only be a short matter of time before Haures realised what had happened at Lychgate and neutralised the rest.
Officer Hoffman insisted upon following protocol to the letter — normally an admirable trait in Reiner’s opinion but time was running out. He beckoned Cynthia over as Hoffman continued his interrogation with little success and they left the cold holding cell behind them.
“That was a waste of time.” Cynthia whispered once they were clear.
“Indeed. If he doesn’t hurry it’ll be too late.” Reiner frowned.
They watched as Night Guard officers escorting suspects walked up and down the corridors to the interrogation cells — each the same layout cold and featureless with a one-way window. Reinforced with iron and magic wards as the Caelite Stronghold was; but the Night Guard were not forthcoming about what level of psychic protection their cells used. If they were lucky any psy-shielding may prolong the life of their prisoner long enough to yield answers. Reiner however did not consider himself a lucky man.
“Lacks the charm of our dungeons.” Cynthia shifted her weight and ignored the distrustful glances from the Night Guard passing by. “Still, they’ve got better facilities than we do.”
“We’re not in the business of locking people up.”
“So what now? Back to Lychgate and hope Hoffman gets us some answers?”
Reiner nodded. “That’s our best option. If they found us that quick and ambushed us without the Night Guard noticing that means one of two things.”
They walked through the corridors heading towards the exit passed countless paintings of famous Night Guard officers and exaggerated depictions of vampires.
“Either they were there before us and knew we were coming, or they have a shortcut into the cemetery that the Night Guard don’t know about.”
“We can’t discount the possibility they’ve got a spy in the ‘Guard or the priesthood. If they can get to us they can get to anyone.” The bitterness in her voice mirroring his own.
“Exactly.”
They hurried up a long winding flight of stairs past a grotesque statue of an armoured Night Guard impaling a wretched and twisted vampire with their sword towards the ground floor.
“They won’t allow us back into the cemetery until they’ve completed their investigation though.”
“I don’t need their permission.” Reiner paused and allowed a small smile to cross his face. “I have a writ from the High-Priestess.”
“Ah.” Her own smile widened. “The cemetery is sacred ground.”
Isobel guided Claire and Hayley upstairs towards one of the briefing rooms on the first floor within the Night Guard station. She grumbled beneath her breath as she clunked her metal leg up each stone step; one hand gripping white knuckled up the safety railing.
“Don’t know why she can’t just come and see me downstairs.” Isobel announced more to herself rather than anyone specific.
“Least it’s not on the second floor like the Chief-Superintendent’s office.” Hayley’s defeated tone suggested this wasn’t the first time they’d discussed this.
Trailing behind at the back Claire paid little mind to their discussion instead choosing to study the distinctive armour worn by the Night Guard. Hayley’s scuffed and dented armour spoke volumes; one side of the silver breastplate bore deep claw marks. Her neckguard also failed to hide vicious scratches on the metalwork and a ring-shaped series of punctures around the side — the work of a Vamprey she surmised. The silver spikes jutting from key parts of her armour were worn and little more than stubs now. The blackened leather she wore frayed and fading with use. The wear and tear was impressive — having received her fair share of scrapes and tears trekking across the wilderness. Not to mention the close encounters with the overgrown wolves or territorial bears back home. She stared down at her most
recent repairs — where the knife that almost killed her had torn through her stomach and felt a slight twinge of pain. Isobel and Hayley stopped without warning almost causing Claire to walk right into the pair of them; she stumbled to a halt and mumbled an apology under her breath.
Isobel unlatched the door marked ‘Briefing room #3’ and pushed it open with her walking cane. The carpet muffled her limp as she strode into the empty room and headed towards the barred window.
“She’d better be here soon we’ve got work to do.” Isobel grumbled.
“I’m already here.” A voice near the door replied in a clipped manner.
Claire’s heart skipped a beat as the voice spoke almost down her ear.
“Hate it when you do that.” Isobel turned and yanked a chair towards her and eased herself onto it.
Veronica smiled. “I don’t have your way with entrances I’m afraid.” She closed the door with a click and her eyes lingered on Claire’s face. “You look well, Claire.”
“As do you.”
Almost sixteen years prior Veronica had lived in Caelholm as a quiet and unusual girl with her family. Most didn’t take to her strange nature but Claire had formed a brief friendship with the older girl, her keen interest in vampires and the curses of myth apparent even then. Now that same girl stood before her clad in a deep blue travelling cape wrapped around her slim frame, the hood down. Underneath her cape Claire could make out gold-coloured leather armour over blue silken outfit. Her brown hair tied into a neat bun and streaked with blonde highlights and her posture regal and cultured. Transformed from the shy and unusual girl Claire once knew into a lady of high status and expensive fashion.
Necrophobia Page 15