Servants moved forward to take the body away but I stopped them with an upraised hand and sent them scurrying back to the ramp. I wanted the corpse to stay there, with its head lying upside-down beside it. I wanted whoever came up the ramp next to see what they were getting into.
The second warrior, a white-haired Cavalry lieutenant who carried a duelling scar on his left cheek, appeared. He glanced at the headless giant, wrinkled his nose in distaste, then began to circle the Arena, never taking his eyes off me. I repeated what I'd said to his predecessor, and he pointedly ignored me. No surprise there. I danced forward, tapped his sword aside and took him in the throat with a lunging thrust, so fast he didn't even see it coming. His eyes widened, his sword fell from his hands and he collapsed, unsuccessfully trying to stop his life's blood from leaking over the Arena floor. Sympathy threatened to well in me but I slapped it down, telling myself it had been his choice, not mine. He gargled his final breath and died.
Again the servants started forward to recover the body and again I turned them back. They looked up at Duke Wilhelm but he waved them away as if they were annoying insects. Maybe he understood what I was doing and why I was doing it. Maybe he approved.
A third man came up the ramp, an Imperial Navy captain by the look of him, wearing dark blue instead of Imperial black. I repeated my warning, asking—no, begging him to reconsider. His short cutlass faltered for a moment as he weighed the situation, then came up again.
“Shall we fight, sir?” he asked. We assumed en garde and probed each other's defenses. He fought fairly, almost decently, damn him, and he died without a murmur of protest as my silver-inlaid blade found his heart.
Again I glanced up at the Kaiserine's box. She sat there, unmoving and aloof. Was she enjoying herself? Did she take pleasure in seeing brave men die? Duke Wilhelm stared down at me. What thoughts were evolving behind those ice-blue eyes of his? Had he an inkling of the self-loathing that coursed through my veins as I waited for the fourth warrior to climb the ramp? I think he did. Any soldier would have felt the same way.
My next adversary didn't climb the ramp, he leapt up it, from the bottom to the top. This was no uniformed soldier—he was a half-naked Romani tribesman with braided hair and a fierce mustache and beard, the latter decorated with animal skulls and what I suspected were human bones. The servants scattered, terrified by the very sight of him, and I couldn't blame them because I wanted to run too. I didn't have the opportunity to repeat my warning and it wouldn't have made the slightest bit of difference anyway because the Romani had come to kill me and to kill me in the shortest time possible. His great curved scimitar rang against my sabre as he slammed me back against the wall with stunning force. My senses reeled and the Arena darkened about me for a terrible moment, but returned in time to allow me to throw myself to one side, avoiding the scimitar as it hacked into the wall where I'd been standing, drawing sparks.
The sheer brute force of the Romani had taken me by surprise and almost cost me my life. As I struggled to my feet he grabbed me by the throat, smashing me against the wall again. Pain lanced through my skull. His scimitar was no use at such close quarters so he dropped it and grabbed my wrist with his freed hand, twisting it until I had no choice but to drop my sword too. I struggled, but to no avail. The Romani was squeezing the life from me, denying the flow of blood to my brain. His face became deformed before my eyes, as if viewed through warped glass. I tried to draw breath, but couldn't.
A low growl rumbled somewhere inside my throbbing head. The Romani grinned as I reached out and grabbed hold of his neck as he'd grabbed hold of mine. He tensed the massive corded muscles of his neck to protect himself, plainly not expecting me to possess enough strength to harm him. But as I continued to exert pressure his grin slowly faded, and something approaching surprise crossed his primitive face. I bared my teeth, snarling at him. His surprise suddenly turned to naked fear and he screamed something into my face, words that made no sense but which were clearly borne of an illogical and unexpected terror.
The Romani lifted me up as if I weighed nothing, and then snapped his head forward in a vicious butt. Bone cracked and crimson pain burst inside my skull. He threw me down and kicked at me, still screaming. I heard and felt my ribs snap. The Arena darkened about me again, but not before my questing fingers found the hilt of my sword lying on the Arena floor. In a kind of reflex action, I thrust the blade deep into the Romani's stomach and twisted the point up into his heart.
It was an inglorious end to what might have been a shining career. I wondered whether the Romani might be the vampyre assassin, but that didn't seem to matter very much as the universe opened up and swallowed me whole.
* * * *
Count Laszlo's voice came to me through the darkness.
“My word! He's still breathing. He's alive."
I opened my eyes and his concerned face came into focus. He suddenly moved away from the table to reveal Thenck, lounging against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, just as he'd stood when he'd spoken to me in my prison cell the previous morning. We were in a small room off one of the corridors. Two Guardsmen stood outside, blocking the doorway.
“If he's alive then it's no thanks to you,” Thenck snapped. “What were you and the adjudication committee thinking of, allowing that damned Romani into the Arena?"
“There was nothing in the Rules that said Romanis couldn't fight, Herr Thenck, if they were proposed and sponsored through the usual channels."
Laszlo gestured to a third figure standing in the corner, who waddled forward. It was the doctor who'd attended to Gunter's eye in the Arena. He put down his leather bag and set to examining me. Laszlo passed him a lantern, which he shone into my eyes. Then he prodded my ribs with a finger, watching for my reaction. I winced obligingly.
“You could always just ask me how I feel,” I suggested.
The doctor raised an eyebrow, then stepped back from the table as I rose up onto my elbows. “How do you feel?” he asked.
“Terrible,” I said, swinging my legs off the table. There were insufficient words in the language to describe the pounding ache inside my skull as I sat up. I abruptly wished I hadn't, but remaining upright seemed easier than lying down again.
Thenck said, “You'll be pleased to know the Romani is dead. You won the fight. You'll also be pleased to know an addendum denying Romanis the opportunity of ever participating in the Arena again has been added to the Rules."
I couldn't have cared less, but didn't want to disillusion him. “What of the contest?” The doctor touched my swollen face and I hissed at the sudden sunburst of pain.
“Scheduled fights are taking place at this moment,” Thenck said. “Your private challenges are postponed, until such time as you are fit to continue."
The doctor, his expression betraying his surprise, brought a bucket of water and a cloth, which he placed beside me on the table. I nodded my thanks, then soaked the cloth and squeezed it into a pad which I gingerly pressed to my face. The cool water brought blessed relief.
“The question is,” Thenck said, “how quickly will you be able to return to the Arena?"
“That is quite impossible,” the doctor said. “You only have to look at this man to realize he has suffered major facial injuries, the extent of which—"
Thenck held up a hand, cutting him off in mid-sentence. “If you will be good enough to wait outside, Herr Doctor, in case we need to call upon your services again? And you too, Count."
The doctor picked up his bag, plainly displeased but hardly able to argue given the circumstances. Laszlo followed him, frowning, and Thenck kicked the door shut behind them.
“He means well,” I said, in case Thenck, the Magician, was contemplating making the doctor disappear.
“Exactly how bad are your injuries?” he said.
I indicated my face. “Even talking is painful. There's no doubt that something's broken. My ribs, also. I've no idea how it would affect me if I were to fight, but I can guess
.” The slightest movement would incur agony; whoever I happened to be fighting was bound to take advantage of my disability and kill me without mercy.
“You were wounded in The War, Herr Manfred, were you not?"
“Yes."
“I checked your Army records. A Moskovian musket ball entered your right lung and very nearly killed you. Your regimental surgeon managed to save you, but pronounced you unfit for military duty."
I sighed. “What is your point, Herr Thenck?"
“Open your jacket and check the entry wound made by the musket ball.” He saw my hesitation and said, “Humor me, Herr Manfred, if you please?"
There was no need to unbutton the jacket—I simply pulled the slashed front apart. I looked down at my chest, expecting to see the puckered wound just above the right nipple—
I stared at Thenck, incredulous. He smiled.
“Exactly,” he said. “The vampyre's gift appears to include what Doctor Schmidt terms rapid regeneration. I've no idea what he means by this, but it's one of the main reasons vampyres are so hard to kill—they heal very quickly, unless the damage they incur is immediately fatal. A sword-thrust to the heart, for example, or a bullet in the brain, or decapitation."
The ball wound had vanished. The flesh was whole, intact. I brushed the area with my fingertips, expecting to feel some trace of the scar ridge, but it was gone.
“There is no doubt that Doctor Schmidt's elixir has changed you, to the stage where you are enjoying all the benefits of being vampyre, but without any of the undesirable drawbacks,” Thenck said. “Your War wound healed after you briefly became a vampyre and drank my—maidservant's blood.” I wondered at his momentary hesitation, but didn't ask. Thenck continued, “It is likely your present wounds will also heal at a much faster rate, but they are severe, and we cannot wait. The solution is obvious."
I didn't understand, until someone knocked on the door and Thenck pulled it open. Doctor Schmidt stood there, looking at me through his thick spectacle lenses. Beside him stood a young and pretty blonde-haired woman wearing a plain black dress. I guessed she was someone's personal servant. Judging from her puzzled expression, she hadn't the slightest idea why she had been brought here.
Her blue eyes were wide and innocent as Thenck smiled at her and said, “Please come in, my dear. As Doctor Schmidt told you, we have urgent need of your assistance."
She came into the room. Schmidt followed her in and closed the door behind them.
Thenck said, “What is your name, my dear?"
“Rosemarie, Herr Thenck."
“You are here because your mistress’ life is in danger, Rosemarie. There is an assassin at large, you see. We do not know who he is, but he intends to kill the Kaiserine. That is why we are all here. We intend to stop him, and save the Kaiserine. You can help us."
Rosemarie gasped and her hand flew to her throat. “How, sir? Pray, tell me how I can assist you?” Her reaction was a tad over-dramatic but there was no doubting her sincerity. The very thought that the Kaiserine, her mistress, might be in danger sent Rosemarie into a panic.
“By drinking this,” Schmidt said, offering her a dark glass bottle. The girl took it from him and stared at the bottle, her puzzlement obvious.
At that moment I realized what they intended.
“No,” I said to Thenck, shaking my head. “I won't do it."
Rosemarie frowned at me, probably wondering who the uncouth, blood-spattered oaf sitting on the table was. Thenck frowned also, but further conversation was made useless by Rosemarie's pulling the stopper from the bottle, lifting it to her lips and tilting her head back so she could swallow the contents. Under other circumstances I believe she might have hesitated to think it over, but she'd been told that her actions might help the Kaiserine, and that was all there was to it. Loyalty dictated the poor girl's actions. Rosemarie drained the bottle without even pausing to sniff or taste whatever it might contain.
She staggered, her eyelids fluttered, the bottle fell from her hands and shattered on the floor. Schmidt caught her and held her, for she'd fainted dead away. He brought her over and laid her on the table beside me.
“You think I'll drink her blood because she's asleep?” I demanded angrily.
“No, Herr Manfred,” Thenck said. “I think you'll drink her blood because she just consumed Doctor Schmidt's only supply of the counter-elixir."
“What?"
“Tell him,” Thenck said to Schmidt.
“Because she is not part vampyre herself, the counter-elixir has rendered her unconscious and will, in a very short time, kill her,” Schmidt said. “Only one thing can save her. You can guess what that is, I think?"
I stared at Thenck. “You are, without doubt, the most devious swine I've ever had the misfortune to meet, Herr Thenck."
“Your personal feelings on this matter are immaterial,” he said, without any change of expression. “The fact remains the only counter-elixir that exists flows in this girl's bloodstream. If you wish to be human again, free of the vampyre's curse and save this girl's life, you have only one option available to you."
“But this is absurd,” I said. “If I drink her blood and take the counter-elixir myself, that will exorcise the vampyre from me, won't it? I thought you wanted me to win the Arena contest?"
“The change will not be instantaneous,” Schmidt said. “You will find—"
“What matters,” Thenck said, interrupting him, “is that you will be able to return to the Arena quickly. Your Kaiserine needs you. I think that fact overrides your own selfish wishes, Herr Manfred, don't you?” He went to the door and opened it. “We'll leave you alone to think it over.” He glanced at the girl then followed Schmidt out, closing the door.
There really wasn't much thinking to do. The pounding in my head was shortly masked by the insistent throbbing of the young girl's pulse. Her vibrant warmth filled the room. I touched her body with my mind and detected the fluctuations of her heart as Schmidt's counter-elixir poisoned her. She was slipping further and further into unconsciousness. By drinking her blood and passing on the vampyre's gift, which would act against the counter-elixir, I'd be saving her life.
I quickly averted my eyes, disgusted with myself for trying to justify the feeding. But not for long. I could not resist the hunger. My upper lip lifted as my incisors extended fully and I leaned over her, pressing down with my head until my incisors punctured her skin and penetrated her jugular. She moaned, but didn't open her eyes. After a few moments her lips curled into a smile. Sweet, hot nectar poured down my throat and the pain in my head receded like an ebbing tide. The broken bones within my skull shifted, repairing themselves, returning to their original pattern. My broken ribs solidified, becoming whole again. All my aches and pains faded. Strength flowed through my limbs and I would have laughed out loud, but for the fact my teeth were buried in Rosemarie's neck to the hilt, and I was draining her of life!
I jerked back too quickly, spilling blood. It soaked her collar, her dress. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling my incisors retract. Once again I was thoroughly disgusted with myself, and ashamed. I hated Thenck for what he'd done, for what he'd forced me to do. Thankfully, Rosemarie's neck-wounds closed and the bleeding stopped. How much of her blood had I taken? I sensed I'd reached the exact point where decision had to be made—a decision whether to permit her to live, or allow her to die. If I chose the latter then she would rise again as a mindles undead, subject to my will; if I chose the former, it would spark off the profound metaphysical changes that would transform Rosemarie into a vampyre.
I examined her closely and decided Rosemarie would recover from my feasting, given time. The deadly effects of Doctor Schmidt's counter-elixir on a non-vampyre had been offset by whatever chemicals I'd released into her body. Relief washed over me; I could not have had this girl's death upon my conscience. Too much guilt weighed down upon me already. Death trailed behind me, his breath like an open sewer.
My eyelids grew heavy. Having tak
en sustenance, my body now demanded rest and I dared not argue with its decree. Taking care not to disturb Rosemarie, I curled up on the table beside her, and slept the sleep of the dead.
* * * *
Rosemarie was gone when I awoke a short time later. I didn't imagine she'd gotten up and walked out by herself. Thenck must have had her taken away. I could only hope she would recover.
I sat up slowly, expecting the pain in my head to return, but no pain came. Somewhere in the distance steel clashed, and voices that had been shouting all afternoon hoarsely cheered the warriors now doing battle in the Arena.
The door opened and a Guardsman peered inside. He stared at me for a moment then shut the door again. I waited, knowing the news would be relayed to the right quarters.
Hardly a minute had passed before Count Laszlo stepped into the room. He left the door open, as if he feared me and wanted the Guardsmen to see and hear everything. “I see you have recovered, Herr Bruno,” he said, unable to hide his puzzlement. And small wonder. A short time ago he'd seen me wounded nearly unto death.
“Apparently,” I said.
“Are you fit enough to fight, or do you need—?"
“Where's Thenck?"
“Herr Thenck has returned to the Kaiserine's box. I'm to send him word as regards your condition."
“Let's surprise him,” I said, standing up. “What happened to my sword?"
Laszlo snapped his fingers. The Guardsmen brought the sword in and carefully passed it to Laszlo, who gave it to me. “Who's fighting just now?” I asked, swinging the blade experimentally, enjoying its balance and weight.
“A Prussian called Konrad and a Moskovian named Sergey."
“Did they issue a private challenge to me earlier?"
“As a matter of fact, yes, they both did."
“Thank you,” I said, moving past him. The Guardsmen shifted warily as I stepped into the corridor but I didn't pay them any attention. The bottom of the ramp was visible at the far end of the corridor. As I approached, various warriors waiting to fight, officials and servants turned and stared at me. Their mouths either hung open in astonishment or their lips were pressed tight with disappointment at finding me still alive. They moved out of my way, perhaps sensing my mood. A wise decision.
The Kaiserine's Champion Page 5