[Underworld 04] - Rise of the Lycans

by Greg Cox - (ebook by Undead)

  Centuries ago, when he had fought for breath upon his deathbed, Marcus had come to Viktor and offered him immortality in exchange for the mortal warlord’s assistance against William and the other werewolves. Looking death in the face, Viktor had gladly accepted the vampire’s bite. For centuries, he had never regretted that decision.

  Until today.

  He sagged against the sturdy wood, covering his ears to drown out the horrific screams coming from the execution chamber. The ghastly cries finally died away as her lungs were surely seared to ash. Viktor rammed his fist into his mouth. His fangs gnawed on his knuckles.

  No one must ever speak of this again, he resolved. He would ban all mention of Sonja and her sins, upon pain of death, and order Tanis to have her name entirely stricken from the archives. The pain of today’s dark deeds would never leave him, but perhaps, in time, his daughter’s disgrace would be lost to history. One more secret for him to guard throughout eternity.

  The loss of his only daughter was like a stake to the heart. First my wife, he lamented, and now my precious Sonja. He was bereft of family and affection.

  Now all he had left was vengeance—against Lucian and all his misbegotten breed!

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Lucian sprawled upon the floor of the chamber, drained of tears and emotion. Hours had passed and his spilled blood had long since dried, although the merciless silver still burned beneath his skin, trapping him in human guise. The killing sun slowly retreated from the sky and the purple glow of twilight filled the open iris in the ceiling. Storm clouds swept past the opening.

  The sun’s departure had not come soon enough for Sonja. All that remained of the lovely vampire warrior was a lifeless gray statue of charred bone and ash. Her powdery arms were still raised above her, held in place by the scorched iron shackles. Her lustrous hair had been completely seared away, exposing the naked contours of her skull. A look of anguished sorrow, for both herself and their unborn child, was baked onto her agonized features. Scraps of burnt linen were fused to her remains, barely protecting her modesty. Blackened bone showed through the cracked charcoal. Only a solitary golden shimmer added a touch of color to the bleak gray figure: Sonja’s crest-shaped pendant, still clasped around her lifeless throat.

  Even in death, there was something ineffably beautiful about her.

  As the last glint of daylight vanished from the sky, the door to the chamber swung open, disturbing Lucian’s grief. Viktor entered, accompanied by an honor guard of Death Dealers. Garbed as always in somber shades of black, it was impossible to tell if the malignant Elder was in mourning. Long-faced and solemn, he made his way across the chamber to the crumbling effigy that was once his daughter. If the smoldering ruin troubled him, his austere face bore no evidence of it. A polished silver broadsword hung at his side. Bits of baked skin and sinew crunched beneath the soles of his boots.

  Monster! Lucian thought. Unbridled fury reawakened inside him. Look what you did to her!

  A cold draft entered with Viktor. The wind buffeted Sonja’s remains, sending swirling clouds of ash across the chamber. The flakes blew against Lucian’s face. His beloved’s ashes tasted bitter upon his lips.

  Ignoring Lucian for the moment, Viktor contemplated the charred corpse. He reached and brushed the gilded pendant resting against Sonja’s bosom. His eyes moistened briefly, and a look of genuine grief flashed across his face, but it passed quickly as his aristocratic countenance resumed a cold, distant expression. He plucked the pendant from Sonja’s throat, easily snapping the delicate chain, and turned toward Lucian at last. Icy disdain and hatred smoldered in his unearthly blue eyes.

  His callous inhumanity inflamed Lucian, who matched the Elder’s baleful gaze with a red-hot glare of his own. His blood surged volcanically in his veins. His heart was as hard as steel, having been forged and tempered by the tragedy of his loss. A growl formed at the back of his throat.

  Viktor drew his sword and raised it high above his head. Lucian rattled the chains holding him fast to the floor. It seemed the chamber was about to witness a second execution, but at the last minute, the Elder had a change of mind. He stepped back and returned his sword to its scabbard. A cruel smile made him look even more demonic than usual. “On second thought,” he instructed Sandor. “Fetch me my knives.”

  Lucian guessed that Viktor intended to skin him alive. Part of him welcomed death and the opportunity to rejoin Sonja in the afterlife, but as his loved one’s ashes continued to swirl around the chamber like macabre snowflakes, he realized that he was not ready to die just yet. Not until Viktor and all his blood-sucking vermin paid for their crimes.

  I will have my revenge, he vowed. The revenge of the wolf!

  A full moon shone down through the open hatch, renewing his strength. He pounced at Viktor, every muscle in his body quivering in feral anger. The thrice-damned chains restrained him, but he grimaced in concentration as he focused all his will on the intrusive silver barbs lodged in his back. The baneful metal kept him from changing, but his lycan flesh fought against the foreign objects, eager to answer the call of the moon. Straining muscles rippled beneath his skin, while the tendons in his neck stood out like drawn bowstrings. Hot blood pounded at his temples. His jaws clenched as tightly as his fists. His eyes flashed blue.

  Waiting for his knives, Viktor chuckled in amusement at Lucian’s seemingly futile exertions. The other Death Dealers jeered as well.

  At first, nothing happened. Then, one by one, the suppurating wounds contracted, disgorging flattened silver points in what looked like a grotesque mockery of the miracle of birth. A single bloodstained barb clattered onto the floor, followed swiftly by two more extruded lumps of metal. The crimson fragments rolled across the uneven paving-stones. Lucian gasped in relief as, for the first time in endless hours, the silver no longer seared his flesh.

  He was himself once more.

  Viktor’s eyes widened in alarm as he belatedly realized what was happening. He reached for his sword, but he was already too late. The change came upon Lucian instantly. In the blink of an eye, he grew to Herculean size. His bloodstained tunic and trousers came apart at the seams. Coarse black fur sprouted from his hide, covering the ugly welt marks on his back. His hearing and sense of smell heightened immeasurably, so that he could practically taste the panic in Viktor’s blood as the Elder grasped his danger. A scarlet haze fogged Lucian’s vision. Iron shackles snapped like dry twigs.

  You should have killed me when you had the chance, Lucian gloated. Now the beast inside me is free!

  Viktor drew his sword, but the snarling werewolf swatted the blade away with a sweep of its paw. The Elder staggered backward, knocked off balance by the force of Lucian’s blow. Sonja’s pendant flew from his hand. It skittered across the floor before coming to rest only inches from her torched remains. Bits of ash rained down on the pendant, dimming its polished luster. Sonja’s charred toes crumbled into powder.

  The werewolf slashed at Viktor with its claws, tearing the fabric of his robe. Death Dealers swarmed forward to defend the imperiled Elder. Lucian heard the distinctive click of crossbows being armed. A silver bolt whizzed past his head, ricocheting off Viktor’s throne. A second bolt thudded into the wooden post supporting Sonja’s corpse.

  Lucian growled in anger. The wolf in him wanted nothing more than to lunge for Viktor’s throat, regardless of the odds against him, but his keen mind realized that, even blessed with wolfen speed and strength, he was at a severe disadvantage. Searching for an escape route, his eyes seized on one of the shuttered stained-glass windows overlooking the crypt. His muscles tensed to spring, but a golden glint caught his eye first.

  He knew he could not leave without a token of Sonja’s love.

  Exploding into action, he barreled past Viktor. A shaggy paw snatched the golden pendant from the floor. Death Dealers shouted and swore in rage as hastily fired bolts missed him by inches. Sparks flashed as the silver points bounced off the granite masonry. A lighted brazier toppled
over, spilling red-hot coals onto the floor. Viktor hissed in rage as he spotted the pendant in Lucian’s hand. Brandishing his sword, he shoved his own men aside in his haste to recover the precious memento.

  Lucian had his own scores to settle with Viktor, but not now. Later, he vowed, clutching Sonja’s pendant in his hairy palm. He growled at his enemies one last time, then sprang through the beckoning window. Wooden shutters and tinted green glass shattered before the force of his leap, raining down onto the cobbled floor of the courtyard outside. The werewolf hit the ground a second later. He rolled nimbly across the debris before springing to his feet.

  The inner bailey of the castle stretched between him and the outer walls. It was a cold, clear winter night. A full moon hung high above the mountains. His explosive escape from the mausoleum alerted the sentries upon the ramparts, who swung around and launched a volley of silver bolts at the fleeing werewolf. The flying missiles thwacked into the paving-stones all around Lucian. The guards shouted frantically at one another. A horn sounded a call to arms. Panicked ladies and servants ran for the safety of the keep.

  Lucian zigzagged across the courtyard, dodging the deadly hail of arrows. His only hope was to escape over the walls. Her pendant rested securely against his hairy palm. He was halfway to the stairs when a pair of Death Dealers burst from the base of the gatehouse to block his path. Drawn swords reflected the moonlight. Angry curses assailed him.

  The werewolf neither halted nor turned tail at the sight of the guards. Instead he vaulted over the startled vampires, grabbing onto the crests of their helmets as he did so. He yanked the soldiers off their feet, carrying them over ten feet through the air, before slamming their skulls into the pavement when he landed at the base of the steps. Their steel helmets crumpled like cheap pewter. Vampire brains leaked onto the cobblestones.

  Lucian had no time to savor his victory. The steps to the ramparts lay before him, but more soldiers poured out of the keep into the courtyard behind him. Soren and a Death Dealer named Radu hefted oversized crossbows armed with long silver-tipped spears. Heavy iron chains were affixed to the ends of the harpoons. Practiced hands cranked the windlasses to draw the bowstrings tight, even as ordinary silver bolts rained down from the palisade, barely missing the speeding werewolf.

  Lucian found himself besieged from all directions.

  Seething with anger, Viktor strode out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Tanis followed nervously in his wake, no doubt happy to be far away from the fighting. Peering down from his perch, he was dismayed to see that Lucian yet lived. He gnashed his fangs in frustration. Could not all his men bring down a single werewolf?

  That Lucian had purloined Sonja’s precious pendant only added to his anxiety. Beyond its sentimental value, the pendant was also a vital component of the key to William’s hidden prison. Thank the gods that Lucian was unaware of its true import.

  Or was he?

  Viktor recalled that the mortal locksmith who had crafted the key was still breathing. That was a loose end that needed snipping once this present crisis was concluded; the temporary loss of the pendant made it clear that its secret had to be guarded even more zealously than Viktor had previously believed. A pity, he reflected. As he recalled, the locksmith had an enchanting young daughter. What was her name again? Selene?

  In the courtyard below, the werewolf stubbornly ducked the Death Dealers’ quarrels. Viktor’s nails dug into his palms as he waited impatiently for one of his knights—just one!—to rid him of this troublesome beast. A flicker of hope flared within him as Radu and Soren emerged from the front entrance of the keep, bearing the very same chain-bearing crossbows used to capture William two centuries ago. The ingenious harpoons had finally brought an end to the first werewolf’s carnivorous rampage.

  He could only hope they would do the same for William’s despicable successor!

  A bolt smacked into the pavement only an inch away from Lucian’s back paw. Another quarrel nicked a tufted ear. The werewolf knew he was tempting fate every minute he braved the lethal fusillade; it was only a matter of moments before one of the flying missiles found its mark. He launched himself up the stairs, clearing five steps in a single leap. Another spring would bring him to the top, but, before his hind legs could propel him into the air again, a harpoon came arcing across the courtyard to spear him in the arm!

  He yelped out loud. Feeling a sharp, painful tug on his arm, he glanced behind him to see a length of chain stretching across the bailey to the large crossbow cradled in Radu’s arms. The taut chain pulled on Lucian like a leash, tearing at the gory wound in his hide. Silver invaded his muscles, sapping his strength. The Death Dealer cranked a handle on the crossbow, reeling the werewolf back in like a fish on a line.

  No! Lucian raged. I’ll not be made a captive again!

  He spun away from the pull of the chain, which cracked like a whip, flinging Radu into the arched gateway of the keep with incredible force. His bare head exploded against a looming granite column. Bone shattered like glass. Blood sprayed Soren’s face and armor.

  The violent motion wrenched the harpoon from the werewolf’s arm. Free once more, he bolted up the stairs, only to be speared in the knee by a second harpoon. His chin cracked against the stone steps as he toppled face-forward onto the stairs. He bit down hard on his own tongue. The salty taste of blood filled his muzzle. His skewered leg felt like it was on fire. Another chain clanked against the steps behind him.

  Have to keep going. Almost there…

  Crippled and bleeding, Lucian refused to surrender. Sonja’s pendant dangled from his clenched paw as he painfully clawed his way up the stairs, one step at a time. His talons scratched the well-worn stones. Gritted fangs held in the pain. He dragged his injured leg behind him, leaving a crimson trail in his wake. Every movement jarred the diabolical harpoon, causing him unbearable agony, but he kept on climbing until at last he reached the summit of the palisade. Moonlight shone down on the elevated walkway, yet the pernicious silver counteracted the energizing power of the cold white radiance. He felt his wolfen vigor draining away along with his blood. His gushing wounds declined to heal. The chain pulled against him.

  Only yards away from freedom, he collapsed upon the ramparts. Death Dealers rushed across the palisade toward his fallen form. More soldiers stormed the stairway from the courtyard below. Raising his eyes from the masonry, Lucian spied Viktor upon the balcony across the way. The triumphant Elder smiled thinly at the werewolf’s imminent demise.

  It’s not fair, Lucian despaired. I was so close….

  He threw back his head and let out an agonized howl that echoed across the castle and countryside beyond. He keened for Sonja, his child, and his own crushed hopes.

  Two more silver quarrels struck him in the back.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Raze raised his eyes to the full moon shining above the clearing. The lambent lunar orb stirred something deep within his soul. He felt the beast awakening, yearning to break free. His dark skin itched as though bristling fur was scratching at it from inside. Wiry black hair spouted from his palms. His teeth tugged painfully at their roots. Exploring his mouth with his tongue, he found his incisors sharper and more pointed than he remembered.

  Like the fangs of an animal.

  Closing his eyes, he fought back against the impending change. He knew the hour would come, perhaps even tonight, when he would have to let the wolf loose, but he was not ready to surrender his human guise yet.

  Let me pretend that I am still a man, he thought, if only for a while longer.

  A fervent howl suddenly rang out across the forest. Raze’s eyes snapped open and he jumped to his feet. A damp fog shrouded the clearing. All around the campsite, the other lycans and humans instantly dropped what they were doing. Sabas put down the rabbit he was skinning. Xristo lifted his head from his bedroll. Everyone was riveted by the melancholy baying, which seemed to come from the direction of the castle. Raze knew at once who was howling.

&n
bsp; Lucian!

  The other lycans turned toward Raze, worry and confusion written over their scruffy faces. In Lucian’s absence, they looked to the giant African for direction. Raze wished he knew what to tell them. He had already guessed, when Lucian had not returned to them, that their leader’s mission to rescue his beloved Sonja had gone tragically awry. Indeed, many of them had already given Lucian up for dead. Now his anguished howl proved that Lucian was still alive, but for how much longer?

  And what can we do to save him?

  Raze clenched his fists. Deep furrows creased his brow. Before he could decide on a course of action, however, an ominous rumbling came from deeper in the wilderness. Broken branches and twigs cracked beneath what sounded like a stampede of onrushing bodies. Frightened birds and bats took to the moonlit sky in fright. The dense brush rustled as though before a storm. The startled rebels shouted and looked at each other in alarm. Xristo raised his sword, and lobbed a spare hatchet over to Sabas. Raze grabbed for his ax. He spun away from the castle to see an unstoppable wave of werewolves hurtling from the misty depths of the forest!

  Panic surged within Raze as he recognized the feral beasts who had attacked the caravan several nights ago. The other humans, and even most of the newly liberated lycans, gasped in terror at the charging pack. Some braced for battle, while others turned and fled for their lives. Raze hefted his ax and vowed to sell his life dearly if need be. Lycan though he was now, he could not help but fear his savage brethren. Had not Lucian himself described the wolves of the wild as mindless, ravening beasts?

  So much for immortality, he thought wryly.

  But, to the astonishment of both Raze and his compatriots, the werewolves swept through the camp without attacking anyone, passing the dumbfounded rebels by. Raze blinked in surprise, frankly amazed to find himself still alive. He watched the huge pack bound away from the clearing—as though answering Lucian’s call.