[Underworld 04] - Rise of the Lycans

by Greg Cox - (ebook by Undead)

  Feeling rather like Robin Hood, whose fabled exploits had reached even the Carpathian Mountains, Lucian inspected his growing band of rebels. Between the escaped prisoners and the new recruits, their ranks had swelled to more than thirty men. Wounded lycans had already recovered from their injuries. Many had fashioned crude staffs and cudgels from the raw timber.

  But would that be enough to overcome the vampires?

  Probably not, Lucian thought. He turned toward Raze, who was seated on a nearby boulder. “We need more men.”

  The giant nodded in agreement. He polished his stolen sword with a crude whetstone. “There are more estates to the west of here.”

  More humans? Lucian guessed that Raze had been conferring with the mortals. No doubt they knew of other oppressed communities of peasants, bound in bitter subjugation to their masters’ lands. It seemed that human serfs and lycans had much in common…..

  “Go to them and see how many will join us,” he agreed. Viktor and his Death Dealers would not be defeated easily; only a sizable army could overthrow them. “I will meet you back here in two days’ time.”

  Raze eyed him quizzically. This was the first he had heard of Lucian departing. “Where are you going?”

  Better you should not know that, Lucian thought. What he had in mind might well alarm Raze and the others. Indeed, Lucian had his own doubts regarding the wisdom of his plan. He shot his friend a look that discouraged any further queries. He handed Raze his sword.

  “I will return in two days,” he repeated.

  In time for my rendezvous with Sonja….

  Without further explanation, he left the camp in Raze’s charge and trekked off into the wilderness. Hours passed as he traversed the forest, occasionally pausing to refresh himself from a gurgling stream or spring. After centuries spent toiling over a hot forge, he enjoyed stretching his legs and wandering freely of his own volition. His bare neck did not miss the constant pricking of his slave collar. He wondered why he had waited so long to free himself.

  But today’s expedition was not just about exercising his newfound autonomy. He had a more serious purpose in mind as well. A plan had come to his mind that, should it come to fruition, might well give them a crucial edge over their undead foes. The scheme was not without risks, to be sure, but he had felt compelled to pursue it. Too much was at stake to hesitate now.

  Human allies are all very well and good, he mused, but we need something more.

  Twilight began to chase the light from the sky. Kneeling, he searched the forest floor for tracks and spoor. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air.

  Yes, he thought. Somewhere nearby…

  Viktor rose promptly at sunset. Troubled by the morning’s events, he had slept little during the day. He knew he would not rest easily until he had gotten to the bottom of Lucian’s baffling escape—and seen the traitor put to death.

  Lucian’s smithy struck him as the logical place to continue his investigation. Viktor prowled the deserted shop, sniffing disdainfully at the sooty apparatus. He glared at the cold and lifeless forge, which the missing blacksmith had doubtless employed to fashion his forbidden key. Lucian had always been clever for a lycan.

  Too clever, in retrospect.

  The Devil take me as a fool, Viktor thought, if I ever trust another lycan again….

  Alas, the cluttered smithy offered no clues as to how Lucian managed to smuggle a second key into the dungeons. Deep in his heart, Viktor suspected that some nefarious accomplice must have assisted in the prisoners’ escape, but who? Tanis had been the obvious, and most conveniently expendable, suspect, yet no damning evidence had attached itself to the scribe’s name. Which left open one other ghastly possibility which Viktor could scarcely bring himself to entertain.

  No, he thought. Not her.

  That was unthinkable.

  Searching for some other explanation, he stepped around to the rear of the smithy. He trod upon a rusty metal grate, which clanked loudly beneath his foot. He glanced down at the grille, which seemed to lead down into a drainage chute below.

  Hark! he thought. What’s this?

  He tried the grate again and it wobbled loosely above the drain. Perhaps too loosely?

  His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  Nightfall found Lucian in a narrow valley nestled at the base of a high limestone cliff that stretched many feet above his head. Ferns and brambles sprouted from the rubble at the base of the precipice. Darkness shrouded the wilderness as the temperature dropped severely. The wind, which had seemed pleasant by day, now had a chilly bite to it. His breath frosted before his lips. An owl hooted in the treetops.

  The nocturnal forest raised unnerving memories of the bloody massacre at the crossroads only two nights ago. Not for the first time, Lucian wondered if he was making a serious mistake. Death and danger lurked in these woods at night. Perhaps he would have been wiser to have stayed back at the camp with Raze and the others.

  But, no, he had come too far already to turn back now. Following his nose, he traced a faint musky aroma to a deep cleft in the face of the cliff. He paused and sniffed the air again. The smell was definitely coming from somewhere inside the cave. His keen ears detected sounds of movement from within, as well as a raspy noise that sounded like the breathing of a dragon.

  Or a werewolf.

  This is it, he realized. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he slipped through the open fissure. Stygian darkness, only slightly relieved by a narrow shaft of moonlight, enveloped him and he had to feel his way along a winding passageway. Water dripped down damp curtains of calcified stone. Stalactites hung overhead like the fangs of a sleeping dragon. Gaping sinkholes threatened to swallow him forever. Twisted rock formations, carved out by the ceaseless passage of time, looked like lurking demons in the fading light.

  Lucian was unpleasantly reminded of the forgotten catacombs beneath Castle Corvinus.

  Even after his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could still barely make out anything at all. Something cracked beneath his boot, and he glanced down to see a suspiciously human-looking jawbone. More bones were scattered across the floor of the cavern. Fang marks gouged the skeletal remains, which had been cracked open and stripped clean of their marrow. Lucian wondered if his own bones would soon join the ghastly refuse. The bestial odor grew overpowering, while the raspy sound of heavy breathing drowned out the rapid beating of Lucian’s heart. Squinting in the dark, he rounded a corner, then froze in his tracks.

  Glowing cobalt eyes stared back at him.

  Scores of werewolves—the feral spawn of William—crowded an immense grotto that rivaled the great hall of Castle Corvinus in size. The savage beasts were everywhere, crouched on numerous ledges and formations, or lurking within countless murky antechambers. Their hackles rose as they regarded the intruder in their midst. Their lips peeled back, revealing yellow fangs. Hostile growls echoed off the petrified walls of the cavern.

  The sheer size of the pack took Lucian by surprise. His human instincts urged him to turn and flee, but the wolf in him sensed instinctively that to do so would be suicide. Above all else, he must not show fear. His mind flashed back to his confrontation with the pack only two nights ago. Against all odds, he had faced the ravening horde down. But could he do so again?

  I must, he realized. My life depends on it.

  A low snarl came from his right, only a few inches away from his ear. Lucian gulped and fought down panic. Turning slowly, he found himself face-to-face with an enormous werewolf. The terrifying monster towered above him. Its jaws looked big enough to bite off his head with a single snap.

  Don’t move, Lucian thought. He didn’t even dare try to transform for fear of provoking the beast. The werewolf was close enough to slay him in an instant, before he could finish shifting into wolfen form himself. Lucian had left his sword behind, in order to avoid provoking the werewolves, but now he regretted that decision. Armed only with his own resolve, he summoned a memory of Sonja to give him strength. He imagine
d her pale face shining down on him like the moon. Forgive me, my love, if this desperate ploy costs us our future together.

  A hush fell over the grotto as the rest of the pack watched the scene expectantly. The looming werewolf lowered its shaggy head toward Lucian. Its rank breath accosted his nostrils. Saliva dripped onto his shoulder. The monster sniffed the intruder. Its protruding muzzle crinkled in confusion. Lucian took that as a good sign.

  That and the fact that the werewolf hadn’t killed him yet…

  Raze sat by the campfire sharpening his ax. New recruits toted whatever scythes, pitchforks, and swords they had managed to salvage from their former homes, clinging to their weapons as they came to grips with their new lives in the forbidding wilderness. Raze’s dark eyes scanned the threatening shadows around them. He had not forgotten Viktor or his Death Dealers. Lucian had rescued them from the vampires before, but their leader was not here to protect them tonight. They would have to rely on their own strength and courage.

  Raze offered a silent prayer to the watchful spirits of his ancestors. Protect us from pale-skinned demons in the shape of men.

  The prayer bolstered his spirits—until a chorus of fierce howls rang out, from somewhere in the hidden depths of the forest. Raze shuddered at the sound, and the men around him gasped and murmured fearfully. The baying seemed to fill the air around them. The primal music of the wolves sent a chill down his spine.

  Raze silenced the men with a wave of his hand. He listened carefully to the canine ululations echoing through the woods. His memory flashed back to the fearsome howls that had preceded the attack at the crossroads. Was it just his imagination or was there a slightly different quality to the howling tonight? The high-pitched baying sounded less like the hunting song of a bloodthirsty pack and more like…

  A celebration?

  Viktor’s expensive robes stank like the drainage tunnels through which he had just waded, but the Elder paid no heed to the unsavory odor. He had more important things on his mind as he surveyed the turret of the abandoned watchtower. Lucian’s trail had led to the deserted ruins, which showed evidence of recent habitation. Bat droppings had been swept discreetly into a corner. Centuries of dust had lately been disturbed. Day-old bloodstains speckled the floor. Evidence of a heated struggle?

  It seemed that Lucian had been coming and going from the castle for some time, all beneath the unsuspecting noses of his betters. Viktor chided himself for his naiveté. Clearly, Lucian had many secrets. To what dire purpose had this secret lair been put?

  An abominable suspicion haunted the back of his mind, but the troubled Elder was not yet ready to give voice to his deepest fear. It cannot be, he thought plaintively. Not my own daughter!

  Wolves howled in the distance, mocking him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Only two nights more, Sonja thought.

  Alone in her bedchamber, she could not wait to be reunited with Lucian again. The next few days stretched before her like a prison sentence. Clad in a sheath of fine mesh chain mail, she paced restlessly about her quarters. She supposed that, for appearances sake, she should best go about her life as though nothing were troubling her, but the thought of indulging in idle gossip with Luka and the other vampire ladies repulsed her; how could she feign nonchalance while her lover was a hunted fugitive? Despite her father’s prohibitions, she was sorely tempted to go riding out in search of Lucian tonight, days earlier than they had planned. Even if she failed to find him, it would be a blessed relief to escape the noxious atmosphere of the castle, where Lucian’s escape was the talk of the court, and every vampire save for her counted the days until his “inevitable” capture and execution. If she had to hear another bloodthirsty aristocrat go on in gory detail about what ought to be done to Lucian and the other rebel lycans, she was going to start cracking skulls!

  The shadowy gloom of the chamber depressed her, so she crossed to the vanity to light some more candles. The warmth of the flames reminded her of Lucian’s passionate embrace, and she took a moment to bask in the memory of their nights together. Her blood quickened in anticipation of their upcoming reunion. The prospect of seeing him again lifted her spirits somewhat—until she turned away from the candles to find her father standing only a few feet away.

  She gasped and clutched her heart. Lost in thought, she had not even heard him enter. What is he doing here? she fretted anxiously. It was not like him to invade her bedchamber without knocking. Is he spying on me?

  “Did I startle you, my dear?” he said blandly. “I am sorry.”

  “No, no,” she assured him, attempting to regain her composure. “Not at all, Father. I just did not… no…”

  Pensive blue eyes examined her. His gaunt face bore an inscrutable expression. She shrunk before his penetrating gaze, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Almost naked.

  “It occurs to me,” he mused aloud, “that I have been thoughtless. So wrapped up in my own anguish over Lucian’s betrayal that I gave no thought to your own feelings.”

  “My feelings?” Sonja said warily. Is this a trap? Has Tanis betrayed me?

  “These lycans,” he reflected. “They worm their way into our lives, somehow making us forget the travesty of their birth. I myself was fond of Lucian. If he had been as we are, why, he could have been anything. A Death Dealer perhaps.”

  His praise for Lucian rang hollow to Sonja, given how cruelly he had treated the innocent lycan over the past few nights. Still, she strove to keep her ire to herself. “Yes, perhaps.”

  “But he was not as we are, was he?” His voice took on a darker, more suspicious tone. “Did you help him escape?”

  The abruptness of the accusation took her aback. “Help him?” She pretended to be offended by the suggestion. “Of course not.”

  She felt a sudden urge to flee her father’s presence. Glancing toward the door, she was stunned to see two armored Death Dealers standing in the doorway. Cold, implacable eyes gazed back at her from behind their helmets. Sonja realized she was a prisoner in her own chambers.

  Her voice faltered. “Father, please.”

  “Are you lying to me?” he asked.

  “No! I am not… I would not!” She tried urgently to placate him. “I know I have done many things against your will, Father. But he is a lycan.”

  She filled her voice with a contempt she no longer felt. As though the very idea that she might ally herself with such a creature was ridiculous.

  Her father weighed her words as he came up behind her. No doubt he wanted to believe her; perhaps that would be enough to quell his suspicions. Peering back over her shoulder, Sonja experienced a rush of relief as his stern expression slowly melted. A rueful smile lifted his thin lips. He leaned forward as though to kiss her warmly on the cheek.

  “I am so sorry, my dear…”

  Sonja’s tense muscles relaxed. She prepared to graciously accept his apology.

  “…but you leave me with no choice.”

  What? She started in alarm and tried to pull away from him, but his powerful hands held her fast. Before she could even try to defend herself, he sank his fangs into her neck. She gasped out loud as her own father sucked the blood from her jugular!

  No! she thought in stunned disbelief. This can’t be happening!

  The shocking assault was over in a heartbeat but left Sonja feeling dazed and violated. He released his grip and she threw herself away from him in horror. Her hand went to her neck, which was wet and sticky to the touch. Blood trickled down the side of her throat. Nausea gripped her and she staggered away from him toward the door. Her gorge rose. She thought she might vomit.

  How could he do this to me? His own flesh and blood!

  The intimidating Death Dealers barred her escape. They stepped inside the chamber and slammed the door shut behind them. Their swords slid from their scabbards. If either guard was appalled by the obscene spectacle they had just witnessed, they gave no sign of it. Sonja realized she could count on no mercy from the grim-faced soldiers. Thes
e were her father’s men, not hers.

  She was on her own.

  Trembling, she turned to face her father. A crimson smear stained his lips. He casually wiped her blood from his teeth. A shadow gave his face a satanic cast.

  Sonja didn’t even recognize him anymore.

  “This will only take a moment,” he said.

  Viktor closed his eyes and let Sonja’s blood memories wash over him. The images came in a torrent, flooding his consciousness with scattered fragments of his daughter’s past. He saw the world through her eyes, felt what she felt, heard what she heard. The more powerful the memory, the more vivid the experience:

  No more than a child, she beams up at him as he gently places the pendant around her neck. She throws her tiny arms around him….

  Standing beside her father on the balcony, she watches wide-eyed as a handsome lycan youth snatches a silver arrow out of the air. “Lucian,” she murmurs, tasting his name upon her lips. “Lucian….”

  Snarling werewolves chase her though a moonlit forest. A frenzied horse pants beneath her. Silver stars fly from the tip of her blade to strike an oncoming werewolf in the face. The beast howls in agony as he crashes to the ground in front of the speeding charger….

  She gasps in ecstasy as Lucian grinds her against the wall of the watchtower. His muscular chest caresses her breasts. Their naked bodies collide as she takes him deeply inside her. Her passion rises to an almost unbearable peak. Her flesh quickens. Her blood sings with every thrust. No other lover has ever thrilled her so!

  Viktor’s eyes snapped open. His face contorted in disgust. He spit the telltale blood onto the floor as though it were the foulest of poisons. His entire body quivered with hurt and rage. Pulsing red veins streaked his eyes as he glared at Sonja, who quailed before his unleashed wrath. She had never seen him so irate, not even when he had killed that foolish nobleman before the entire Council.

  He knows, she realizes. He knows it all.