The Living Night: Box Set

by Jack Conner

  “No!” Ruegger tried to shout, but with his obliterated larynx, speech proved impossible.

  The soldiers weren’t given the time to kill Kiernevar because it was then that the red-robed monks leapt off of their seats and charged, throwing back their hoods to reveal hideously gone-to-seed zombies.

  The undead pulled out concealed weapons and fell on the guards, and the soldiers defended themselves. Other soldiers from all over the room descended on the spot, determined to end the conflict.

  Kiernevar, a hunted and wretched thing, glanced around desperately for some means of escape.

  Ruegger, trying with one hand to keep his guts from falling out, managed to climb to his feet, using his scimitar as a sort of cane. Danielle flew to his side and helped him up.

  “Drink,” she ordered, sticking a wrist in front of his mouth.

  He could not refuse. He sank his fangs into her skin. Blood pumped into his mouth, reviving him. Immediately he began to feel his neck and belly mend, but at this rate it would be some time before he was whole.

  Kiernevar, however, had much neater wounds to tend to, and already his neck had become seamless once more. However, he’d had to assume his human form in order to gather the strength to heal, and the soldiers were closing on him swiftly, with Ruegger unable to yell out for them to stop.

  There was only one thing Ruegger knew to do.

  Hating to do it, he gathered his powers and aimed them at his closest mortal friend.

  Harry jumped to his feet and called out to the soldiers, “No! This is Ruegger, Heir to the Throne. I command you not to kill Kiernevar! There are questions he must answer.”

  Ruegger withdrew from Harry’s mind, leaving the mortal shaking his head. Lavaca glanced down to Cloire at his side, but she just frowned.

  The soldiers obeyed. Instead of hacking Kiernevar up, they wounded him so badly that he could offer no resistance, then bound him and held him on the floor.

  Ruegger expected the Dark Lord to be issuing frantic orders, but Roche Sarnova just leaned back silently in his chair, smiling a little, apparently confident that things were in good hands.

  Ruegger wiped Kiernevar’s feces from his face.

  The soldiers made short work of the zombies, which, though well trained and strong, were no match against the Dark Lord’s army. Most of the soldiers had been wounded, some were missing limbs and one had been decapitated, but they would live. The zombies, too, might persist, but only if put back together and returned to their masters. That, of course, would never happen.

  Sophia stared down at one of them, shaking her head and explaining to Jean-Pierre, “That was Van Roberts. He was an extra abducted by Junger and Jagoda.”

  Ruegger caught Harry’s gaze. He knew he must look gruesome, but he had to beg forgiveness of the man. Regrettably, the only way he could do this would be through another telepathic intrusion. This time, however, it would just be a message—not a request, not an order, just a thought relayed through the mind.

  I’m sorry, buddy, he sent. I can’t speak, and I couldn’t let Kiernevar die, not now. Can you forgive me?

  Raggedly, Harry nodded. He looked ill.

  Ruegger moved over to where Kiernevar lay surrounded by Castle soldiers in a pool of his own blood. He snarled at Ruegger, but the soldiers had bound him efficiently and snarling seemed the only thing he could do.

  Roche Sarnova stepped down from his throne at last and, accompanied by a score of his elite soldiers, approached.

  “You seem bad off, Ruegger,” he said. “Here.” He stuck his own wrist in front of the Darkling’s mouth. “As my rightful heir, I give you my blood. Drink, and mend.”

  Ruegger was overcome. Drinking the Dark Lord’s blood was a delicacy and an honor few ever experienced. Of the shades that Ruegger knew, Kharker was the only one that had been granted such a boon.

  Even as the thought popped into his head, he heard the Hunter’s voice behind him. “Go on, boy. You’ve earned it.”

  He felt Kharker’s rough hand on his shoulder. So, with the Hunter’s support and with Danielle’s hand in his own, Ruegger bit into the proffered wrist and drank deeply of Roche Sarnova’s blood. In seconds, the wounds on his belly and throat began knitting themselves together with greater urgency. Before a minute was up, he was whole again. He let Sarnova withdraw the wrist, cleared his throat, and with great sincerity said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, while we’re all still young, let’s get about interrogating this wretch.”

  Ruegger bent down and fully opened the lunatic’s trench coat, revealing the foulness he’d expected. Gingerly, he removed the blade from Kiernevar’s ribs and set it on the floor.

  “Kiernevar not lose!” insisted the werewolf.

  Ruegger broke away the barrier of shit that had built up on the madman’s chest, scraping away the flakes and crumbs that hid the flesh.

  “Damn,” said Danielle when the hundreds of tiny crosses were made visible. “So Kiernevar didn’t defeat Laslo, after all.”

  “So it seems,” agreed Jean-Pierre, who had moved between Kharker and Sophia.

  Ruegger turned his thoughts to his hands, used his telekinesis to cleanse them of the filth. In seconds, his hands were as clean as if he’d used soap and water.

  “Kiernevar,” he said. “How much of you is Kiernevar and how much Laslo?”

  “Kiernevar did not lose!”

  “May be. Maybe it was Laslo, acting through Kiernevar, that lost.”

  “Yes! Laslo lost!” The lunatic’s features screwed up in bitterness and outrage, and he spat again, this time on the floor. “Fuck Laslo! Kiernevar says, Fuck Laslo! Kiernevar is no Son of God! Laslo made him, made him put crosses on self! Kiernevar hate him. Hate Him!” Again, he spat. “Kiernevar used like puppet when Laslo wants! What about when Kiernevar want? No, Laslo cares not for zombie! Or Christ! Fuck Laslo!”

  Ruegger nodded, turning to the others. They were all on the same wavelength, except perhaps Roche Sarnova, who was not as familiar with Laslo as the others. To the lunatic, Ruegger said, “Laslo, are you in there? Can you hear me?”

  “Fuck Laslo!” muttered Kiernevar as a sudden spasm passed through him. His features stilled. “Yes, young sinner, I, Laslo, am here. Or, at least, I can see through these eyes, act through these hands.”

  “And your body?”

  “My body is with Christ. Junger and Jagoda, sinners too, burned it. I’d hoped to grow strong again in my Pool of Rejuvenation. My Pool of Baptism. You were there, Ruegger, and you too, Danielle, fornicators and sinners and nonbelievers that you are. If I could, I would—”

  “Shut up,” said Danielle. “Where’s your head? I thought the zombies tore it apart.”

  “Dear young sinner, yes, my flock savaged my head, as I had thought they would. Surrounded by enemies of God, I killed Kiernevar in the Pool of Eternal Life, then let the light of God resurrect him. Then I severed my own head and let him take credit for my death, while my body began to heal in the Pool of Everlasting—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Danielle. “Then what?”

  “Then, young fornicator, I used Kiernevar to convince all that I was dead. Of course, I intended to rise again, as did Christ before me. But the evil heretics Junger and Jagoda found and recovered and burned my carcass, thus undoing the Will of God, then killed Singer and partook of the holy blood I had given him. The sinners claimed my God-given power to bring the dead to life, but they used it for their own faithless ends, putting my head back together and restoring me.”

  “Where are you now?” asked Ruegger.

  “In a burlap sack, I cannot see where, I am too weak, but I am with the evildoers that extracted my Gifts.”

  “They know that Kiernevar is your minion?”

  “They say it brings them amusement. They even gave the little creep some of their—and my own—blood. Meanwhile, my head tries to rebuild my lost body, but they always destroy it. The sinners say that too brings them amusement. Well, Satan will show
them some things that amusement will not be found in. If I had my way, I would deliver them myself. Alas, it is not to be.”

  Suddenly, Kiernevar won back control of his mind and started screaming insanely, over and over again, “Kiernevar did not lose! Kiernevar did not lose! Set Kiernevar freeeee!”

  Jean-Pierre smiled thinly. “I made you. And I will break you.”

  “No,” said Roche Sarnova, and the sound of his voice carried great weight. “This is my home, and I will decide this one’s fate. Until I do—” he motioned to the soldiers “—lock him up.”

  Obeying, they toted the lunatic off, or started to.

  They stopped short when another host of soldiers strode into the room. At the head of this host marched a very grim-looking Francois Mauchlery.

  “Good evening,” he said.

  At that moment, for Ruegger, everything changed.

  Chapter 9

  “You,” Ruegger said, and summoned his blades into his hands. Almost eagerly, they heeded his call. Ruegger jumped from the circle of immortals, almost intoxicated with Roche Sarnova’s blood and the fury at the sight of the Ambassador. After all this time ...

  “Yes,” answered Mauchlery. “It is, indeed. Good to see you again, too, Darkling.”

  Ruegger lifted his upper lip, baring fangs. “They didn’t call me that until you came along.”

  “I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you.”

  Danielle moved to Ruegger’s side. “Baby, calm down.”

  “I’m calm,” he said. “Just don’t stand too close.” He felt something like a smile twitching at his lips and his grip on the weapons tightened.

  “Would somebody please tell me what’s going on here?”

  “Yes,” agreed the Dark Lord, with deceptive mildness. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”

  “Should I tell it, or should you?” Ruegger asked Mauchlery.

  Francois said, “Ruegger, for the scars I planted in your mind, and for the terrible effects those scars had on others, I urge you to say your piece first. After which, I will tell my side of it. There is time.”

  Ruegger stabbed a scimitar in Mauchlery’s direction. “This man is a kavasari. He’s the one that turned Amelia.”

  Carefully, he watched Roche Sarnova’s reaction, and was relieved to see that the Dark Lord appeared properly stunned. In fact, it took the better part of a minute for him to respond, and when at last he did it was with a question.

  “Francois, is this true?”

  “I’m sorry, Roche,” the Ambassador said. “I never meant for you to find out this way—or at all, for that matter. Yes, I am a kavasari. An old one. In fact, it was I who put together the Sangro Sankts.”

  Muttering rippled through the crowd.

  “I don’t understand,” Sarnova said.

  “I do,” said Jean-Pierre, with sudden clarity. “He’s Bob. Fucking hell, he’s Bob!”

  “Bob?” Mauchlery said.

  “That’s the name Kharker gave the one that formed the Sangro Sankts. The one who, at one point, ruled all immortals—before he was overthrown by other kavasari.”

  Mauchlery nodded. “That’s me.”

  “He also suggested that you might in fact be the first kavasari.”

  The Ambassador smiled. “No, I wasn’t the first. But I am now the oldest living creature on Earth that I am aware of.”

  “But why?” asked Sarnova. “Why ... all of it? I don’t understand.”

  “Roche, some day I’ll tell you the whole story, everything, my life’s history, but now isn’t the time. However …” His gaze swept the crowd, who leaned forward, silent, their attention fixed on him and the events unspooling below. “I should make some things clear, to everyone, before I assume command. The kingdom must know the truth at last.”

  “Assume command?” Sarnova said, his eyes flicking to the soldiers that had come with Francois.

  “We’ll get to that,” Mauchlery said. “But that’s the present and future. Let’s address the past first, so that you will understand what’s going to happen now.”

  Roche glared at him, visibly forcing himself not to leap across the distance that separated them and attack the Ambassador with all his strength. When he’d gotten himself under some semblance of control, Sarnova said, “Speak, then, if you must.”

  “Very well. I’ll begin with my downfall.”

  As Mauchlery launched into his tale, Ruegger took stock of himself and realized he was still trembling. This was the creature that, for such a long time, he’d thought to be Amelia’s killer. He had hated Mauchlery for over a hundred years. Had drowned in that hate. But Mauchlery had in fact ... turned her. The Balaklava had told Danielle that Amelia was thought to have a kavasari lover, and Jean-Pierre had suggested that Amelia’s patron might be responsible for the Scouring. Was her patron and lover Mauchlery? Was he in fact the one to start the Scouring?

  Ruegger tuned in.

  The Ambassador said, “I was king over all kavasari, who in turn ruled over all other immortals, for a long time. Maybe I was a good one, maybe not, but the years took their toll. You’ve been through the same stage, too, Roche, although you got through it without being overthrown like I was. Power corrupts. After a couple of centuries, it got me, too. I was an evil, vicious ruler. Think Caligula was bad? Think Vlad Tepes was a monster? If they were, then I was an abomination of a different order entirely. My kavasari subjects, most of whom were younger than myself, learned from my example and treated their own subjects poorly. Those were bad times, and I was a bad ruler. At the end, I actually considered conquering humanity. I would rule the whole world!

  “I couldn’t, though. For some reason, realizing the influence and the strength I possessed and knowing that I could achieve ultimate power—it sobered me. I don’t know why. I’m glad it did. There, at the end, I rediscovered a plane of morality that I’d lost long ago. Once again, I’d found my conscience. By then, of course, it was too late. I’d lost my edge, at least in the eyes of my subjects. The time was ripe for a coup.”

  “Is this going to be a life story?” muttered Cloire, who was leafing through the money she’d earned through her bets.

  “Be quiet,” Roche snapped. “I need to hear this.”

  Mauchlery nodded. “To tell you the truth, I need to tell it. Roche, it’s been so long ...”

  “I know.” It was a simple statement, but riddled by a pain that echoed throughout the room. Everyone, the whole chamber, was silent save for the frozen tableaux at its heart.

  “I was overthrown,” Mauchlery continued. “I’d seen it coming, and I escaped unharmed. From then on, I survived by keeping my identity a secret. If I didn’t, other kavasari would hunt me down and slay me. Other shades would be more than happy to do the honors, knowing that I might one day have to kill them in order to survive. They might kill me solely for the sake of revenge; after all, I’d not been a kind ruler for many years.

  “I knew the corrupting influence of power, and when I was dethroned I knew that those who would wield it—other kavasari—would not be up to the challenge. If they had become the lords of all immortals, they would have quickly enslaved humanity and turned the world into a living hell. I didn’t wish for that to happen, so, over a period of years, I culled the number of kavasari, let them kill each other off and let their immortal subjects find their own independence. The surviving kavasari had learned the same lessons I had: that kavasari make poor—or rather, overly decadent—rulers.

  “By the time I did my culling, their numbers weren’t enough to keep their subjects in line. Therefore, when they were out among the populace, no longer kings, they kept their identities hidden, as did I. I, most of all, because I had to watch my back even for the others of my race.

  “I saw the other immortals that had been slaves to us for so long start to group together, to form kingdoms of their own. I assigned myself their watchdog, thinking that I had a moral sense that many of them lacked. Not that I claim innocence, by any means, but I didn�
�t want the world to become a nightmare. Which it would have, had immortals taken to dominating mortals in large numbers. That’s precisely what they were beginning to do, much as we kavasari had dominated them. I, through lots of bloodshed, put a stop to this and concentrated on building a more positive, healthy empire.”

  “Barbarella,” said Jean-Pierre. “Your warrior queen.”

  Francois raised an eyebrow. “No, Jean-Pierre, not my queen, rather my pupil.”

  “You weren’t lovers?” The albino sounded vaguely disappointed.

  Again, the Ambassador smiled. “That’s private. At any rate, I trained this woman to be a powerful and moral leader, all the while keeping myself from the knowledge of others. But the other kavasari found me and tried to kill her in order to hurt me. I suppose it was to be their vengeance upon me for all the years I ruled them. I defeated the attack, however, killing several in the process.

  “I realized that I couldn’t let the others of my kind roam unchecked. They were causing a great deal of havoc, raping and killing and plundering without regard to anything but their own pleasures. They made the presence of immortals known to the general populace of humans. This I could not allow; I wanted humanity to evolve separately, without interference, any taint. I didn’t want them to become as corrupted as my own kin.

  “Thus I hunted down and killed off all the other kavasari. It took years. Does that sound brutal? Maybe, but it’s what I did, and I don’t regret it. They were evil and selfish. After their extinction, I set about removing our presence from the collective consciousness of humans; it didn’t take much, as superstition ran high in those days, and all I had to do to reverse the damage was to further shroud the legends of immortals in myth. After that, we were just another bogeyman.

  “Next I made several other kavasari out of my own blood and trained them to be part of an order that would protect the Dark Lady, as I named her. I called this order the Sangro Sankts, which literally translates to: the keepers of secrets and shadows. When my beloved finally fell, and that’s another story, I found someone to replace her as head of the kingdom. This one, too, the Sangro Sankts were assigned, by me, to protect. Other than the protection and guidance of the Dark Lord, or Lady, as the case may be, their only purpose is to keep immortals from human knowledge, which they have done an admirable job of.”