by Jack Conner
“I guess not. But we’d never function as well without her. You know that, Kilian; don’t act like you don’t.”
Kilian sniffed. “I said we’ll ask her. Shit, she should come with us just because we agreed to break Ruegger out if we had to. I know she won’t, though; we didn’t have to. Anyway, we’ll make it clear that our minds are set and either she’s with us or she isn’t. But if she’s not with us I don’t want to go to Hauswell. That was her plan. We need our own. Byron?”
The Australian brooded silently until Kilian prompted him with, “Look, By, we’re a team here.”
“Lereba’s in turmoil,” Byron said. “A lot of the crime lords there have been killed or forced underground, but new ones are rising in their place. I hear that Saskia emerged from the wreckage and is starting over. He’ll need some experienced hands to clear the way for him.”
“Yeah,” said Loirot. “I always did like Lereba, at least to visit. Living there … we’d have to deal with the Arabs on a constant basis.”
“You never had any trouble with Saskia. He’s Arab.”
“True. And they do have some great food down there ...”
“Okay,” said Kilian. “That sounds like as good a place to start over as any. And as I hear it, there’s a shortage of werewolves there; we should be in high demand.”
“You think Cloire will join us?”
“I don’t care. We’ve made up our minds; we’re off to Lereba, and soon as possible. Either she goes with us or not. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Loirot.
Still, Byron looked pensive.
“You in?” demanded Kilian.
Slowly, the big man nodded. “But I ask one thing.”
“What?”
“I know that if we all go to her together, you’ll step in and try to strong-arm her like you did last time. Likely as not you’ll scare her away. Let me go alone and feel her out.”
For the first time in a day, Kilian smiled. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?” When the Australian didn’t respond, Kilian added, “It’s okay, By. She was yours first anyway. I want her back in the crew, but as for fucking, I want no part of her. It unravels the crew’s dynamics—often to her benefit, I might add. Go. Talk to her.” The werewolf’s face lost its caustic demeanor, suddenly becoming sincere, which was an odd expression on his dour face. “Good luck.”
* * *
Stiffly, Captain D’Aguila listened to what the Balaklava had to say, nodding his head and grunting when appropriate. He’d come here directly after the battle to clarify some issues, but now—looking at them in their evil smugness—he regretted it. So it was with relief when they finished speaking and he was able to return to his Mistress.
“How’d it go?” asked Maleasoel.
“Your plan worked,” he said. “The zombies, and no one else, were delivered to the Castle. However, the Castle’s plan was formidable—”
“I would expect no less from Ruegger. That is, if he was really the one to devise the plan, as the Balaklava’s spies report.”
“Then you’ll understand we lost many men. We sent out fifteen of our own, with an equal number of deaders, but only six of ours returned. Out of the fifteen deaders, Junger and Jagoda said only four were captured. The rest were killed.”
“That’s unfortunate, but as expected. Now all we have to do is sit back and see if my ultimatum works. Will the Dark Lord surrender?”
Raulf bit back a retort, but, deep in his heart, he didn’t really know what he wanted. Malie had changed. She wasn’t the same person she’d been when he had first seduced her, back when Ludwig had been alive. She’d become cold, drawn not to him but to power, and to the flatterers that even now surrounded her. Did he truly want her to be the one to overthrow Roche Sarnova’s empire?
Of course, if she did defeat the Dark Lord, as seemed inevitable, then he, Raulf D’Aguila, would be one of the most powerful shades in the world, and he admitted to himself that he was not above that temptation. Hell, that’s why he’d banded up with Liberty in the first place.
Power ...
Soon it might not be Captain D’Aguila anymore, but Lord D’Aguila ... or maybe King ...?
* * *
“You played your part well,” Francois told Ruegger, the mountain wind whipping the kavasari’s hair.
Ruegger stared into the wild night and said nothing.
“Don’t feel bad,” the Ambassador told him. “Your plan was worthy. We always knew it might be a trap, but, as Roche said, it was a risk worth taking. And if we’d been able to divert enough men your plan would’ve worked anyway. The Collage, if that’s what it calls itself, would’ve been destroyed. But let’s not dwell on what could’ve been. We have an ultimatum to consider.”
“What do you intend to do about it?” asked Sophia. “I mean, we can’t actually give in, can we?”
“No,” said Roche Sarnova.
“We can’t give in,” said Mauchlery. “However, what the zombie related does seem true; a battle against Liberty, Subaire’s forces, and the Balaklava’s monsters would seem futile. Unless, that is, we can devise some way to turn the odds in our favor.”
“Release the creatures in the Refuge,” suggested Jean-Pierre. “That should be more than enough.”
“No. They’re uncontrollable.”
“But you controlled a dragon.”
“Barely, Jean-Pierre—barely. Roche and I devised that plan not just to kill De Soto but to test how well I could control a dragon. We’d hoped to use them in the fight to come.”
“I thought as much,” said Kharker.
“It didn’t work, though. I couldn’t control Gethraul, not well. I couldn’t even keep him from breathing fire, though it killed several of the Castle’s own men. The only beings that can even vaguely attempt to control a dragon are kavasari, but you were there, you saw my limits. Maybe ... maybe a coven of my race could control a single dragon, maybe two—”
“The Sangro Sankts!”
“They’d kill me on sight.”
“Why?”
“For going against the very laws I made them enforce. I aided Roche in his attempt to bring peace between humans and immortals, aided him in alerting humans to our presence. That goes against one of the main tenets of the order. They wouldn’t kill Roche, because they’re sworn to protect him, but they would have little qualms about killing me.
“Besides,” he added, “such a small coven of kavasari would only be able to control one, maybe two, dragons, unless the wyrms were allowed to act under their own power. But if we gave them free will, they’d do just what Geth did: overindulge. At most the order could only control two dragons—not enough to win the war.”
“But it would help,” Jean-Pierre insisted.
“The Sangro Sankts wouldn’t do it. They wouldn’t lift a finger to save the Undead Jerusalem idea, even if it meant the destruction of the Castle. You’re right, one dragon might make a difference, but without more kavasari ...”
“What about Amelia?” Danielle said. “If you could recall her from New York ...”
Mauchlery shook his head. “I doubt she’d get here in time. Even if she could, one more kavasari wouldn’t make a difference.”
For a moment, all those on the balcony fell silent, considering.
“Ruegger,” said Kharker. “What do you think?”
Ruegger gathered himself. Up until this point, he had hardly been listening. “I ...” He frowned. “Give me a minute.”
Kharker nodded, and the conversation continued. Ruegger barely paid attention. In one hand, he felt Danielle’s warmth, but in the other he could feel the hunger for a blade or gun. To him, all was lost. The Castle would be overthrown, the creatures of the Refuge would die, the Undead Jerusalem would never come to pass ... the Balaklava or whoever seized the throne of the empire would make their move against humanity … and all because of his negligence. Somehow, someway, he had to stop the coming battle, had to stop Maleasoel.
“So what’s
our alternative?” Sophe was saying. “To surrender?”
“No,” said Mauchlery. “That can’t be an option. Maleasoel’s mad, and the Balaklava are worse. We can’t surrender to them. Maybe to Subaire, if she would be willing to coexist with you, Roche, willing to heal the Dark Council. But apparently she’s not. From what her Half’s remnants in London say, she wants to be the new Dark Lord. Which means she’ll want to wipe the slate clean of the rest of us. Our only hope is Maleasoel and Subaire kill each other off before they kill us, but that doesn’t seem likely. We can’t surrender.”
“I agree,” said Sarnova. “At this moment, however, I don’t see another way—and I think that’s the problem; we’re all weary and disheartened. I suggest that I stay here with my troops, make sure everyone’s properly debriefed and so forth, while the rest of you go down to my chambers, or to Francois’s, and brainstorm for awhile. I’ll meet you shortly.”
“I don’t like this,” said Kharker. “To me, it sounds like we’re ... I don’t know how to say it ...”
“Taking the easy way out,” finished Jean-Pierre. “To surrender, to place fate in someone else’s hands—but whose? Subaire’s? Malie’s? The fucking Balaklava?”
“Why does this war so suddenly interest you, Jean-Pierre?” said Mauchlery.
“Because I’ve been through the Refuge, and now I can’t imagine the world without those creatures. As far as the Undead Jerusalem ... well, a few months ago I wouldn’t have cared one way or the other, but now ...” He cast a look at his daughter. “I’ve been shown that mortals can be our equals.”
Kharker laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean? Sounds to me like you’re going soft. I support the Undead Jerusalem for different reasons; I think shades should have a homeland. That’s all. Also, I would love to see dragons wander the earth again.”
“Would you hunt them?” asked Danielle, a suspicious undercurrent in her voice.
Kharker smiled. “No, dear. Not yet. Although, ever since this whole thing got started, I’ve been fantasizing about building a game preserve, full of all the things that used to be—dragons, sygots, sensils—you name it. A hunter’s paradise.”
“I think we’ve strayed from the topic,” Roche Sarnova said. “Ruegger, you look like you’ve come up with something.”
“I have,” Ruegger said. “But you’re not going to like it much.”
“Trust me, I’ll like surrendering a lot less.”
“Good. Because there’s a way out—perhaps. Malie’s right. If it comes to a fight, they’ll defeat us. Even if they don’t, which is unlikely, there are nuclear weapons to contend with, and I’m sure they’ve got a handful of spoonbenders around to prevent us from screwing up the nukes telekinetically. In other words, we’re stuck, unless we want to surrender. But that’s not an option. Agreed?”
Slowly, everyone nodded, waiting.
“As I see it, the only way to prevent the upcoming disaster is to talk Malie down. Once, she was a good person, a moral person—always a little militant, but for peaceful causes. She just needs a little push, a reminder, that’ll jolt her back to who she used to be. Power is seductive, yes, but the right words will put it in perspective to her. And if she can be turned ... then we’ll stand a chance.”
“Ifs, Ruegger,” Kharker said. “That’s all I hear. Sure, maybe Maleasoel could be talked down—maybe—but I want to know how you intend to do it.”
Before answering, Ruegger glanced first to Danielle, who was staring at him with a mixture of respect and horror. From her expression, he knew that she understood what his new plan was—and she didn’t like it. Neither did he, for that matter. But, as both Roche and the kavasari had put it, it was a risk worth taking. He had to act immediately, before Danielle could get him alone and attempt to sway him from the only possible course of action he could see to take in order to thwart the coming ruin.
In answer to Kharker’s question, Ruegger said, “Simple. I’m going to go down there, into the Sabo—alone, thanks—and talk to her. And, before you try to change my mind, I’m leaving now.”
Danielle gasped. “No, wait!”
Swiftly, he ducked down and kissed her just to side of one eye, then leapt over the balcony. With his strong bloods and determination, he landed easily, just a few yards beyond the meaty, rancid ruins of Ambassador Red, and began to pick his way toward the Sabo.
He didn’t stop to notice the cold.
* * *
Cautiously, Byron knocked on Cloire’s door, half expecting her to shout for him to go away.
However, no noises came from within. Grimacing, he wondered if maybe Cloire and Lavaca were lying fast asleep in bed, spent after long hours of—
He knocked again, and again there was no answer. Maybe he should open the door himself ... He shook the notion away; whether or not she was in there, such an act would be an invasion of her privacy, and he would not, could not, abuse her trust like that. But if he returned to Kilian with such news, they would be off to Lereba, and Byron might never see Cloire again. It was all too likely that she would be killed in the upcoming battle.
It didn’t occur to him to abandon the death-squad, to stay with her in this doomed place and perhaps save her life. To him the crew was family; he would fight to keep the family together, but if Cloire chose to secede, he had no power to stop her, other than whatever emotional bond they shared.
His shoulders sagged and his large head bowed as if under a tremendous weight. Slowly, he turned away from the door and took a single step down the corridor.
Two boots were planted in his path. Tilting his head up, he caught a glimpse of fists on hips, of small breasts pressing against a leather shirt, of multi-colored hair and strange green-amber eyes. But these were just flashes, images in his peripheral vision. Mainly, his gaze landed on her smile, and he felt compelled to rush over and hug her. But could not. For all intents and purposes, his feet might as well have been planted in cement.
“Cloire ...”
“Why so surprised?” she asked. “You’re standing in front of my door, after all. Something on your mind?”
“It’s just ...” He fumbled for words. “I ... I thought I’d never see you again.”
“What’re you talking about? Harry and I were just up in the tavern, eavesdropping on the gossip. Things look pretty bad.”
“So he’s still up there?”
“Harry? Yeah, having a few drinks. Kind of acting sullen, really. He thinks I’m going to leave him.”
Unsolicited, Byron’s heart leapt up into his tonsils. “Well, are you?”
All traces of her smile vanished completely, as if it had just been smoke all along. “I don’t know,” she said.
“You know, Cloire ... I do love you.”
Her gaze darted up, and she seemed to be studying him. At last she lowered her fists from her hips and took a few steps toward him.
“Goddamnit,” she said, but her comment wasn’t directed at him—at least, he didn’t think so. “So I’m guessing you’re here on Kilian’s behalf in order to solicit me into returning to the fold. Again.”
It hadn’t been the conversation-starter he had desired.
“Yes.”
She hesitated. “Okay, fuck it. Come inside. Don’t get any ideas; I just want to hear the proposition.”
At that, he couldn’t contain a smile, and with all the eagerness of a loyal dog moved to hold the door open for her.
* * *
Loirot, meanwhile, had decided to take a bath. Regrettably, this inferior room lacked a hot tub, but the brass basin was large and roomy, and he was pleased with it after adding some bubble mixture to the steaming water. Before long, he submerged himself in the suds and came up spewing water in imitation of a garden fountain. Slowly, he felt the warm water loosening his muscles and began to turn his thoughts to Lereba, his new home.
He was quite unprepared when a section of the stone wall across from him swung back in on itself, and a familiar figure emerged from the hole. Standing
tall and proud and naked, red hair shimmering down her well-set shoulders, was—
“Jesus God of Nobles,” Loirot said. “Lyshira. You’re ...”
Smiling at his befuddlement, she said, “The dragon-lady?”
“You’re dead. How the hell ...?”
Amiably, she lifted one long leg over the wall of the brass tub and slipped into the bath with him.
“I don’t remember much,” she said. “I remember that smelly bastard holding up my head ... I remember the shocked faces of the crowd, you most of all. And then ... well, I died. I guess the guards threw me down the chutes and I landed in some strange world, a green lake ...” She shook her head. “That’s all they told me about it.”
“They?”
“Junger and Jagoda. They were scouting the area, seeing what strategic benefit it might offer them, when to the side they see this strange beast, part dragon, part woman, all chopped up and floating there ... and I guess they got intrigued. You know how they are. They took me back to the Sabo and resurrected me.”
“Jesus.”
“Well, He did supposedly have that power, too ...”
“You’re a zombie.”
She flinched. “Technically. And in the back of my mind, somewhere, I can feel their presence; if they order me to do something, I don’t have the power to resist. But thankfully the chores they make me do aren’t too demeaning.”
“Do you ... grant them favors?”
She rolled a shapely shoulder. “I do what needs to be done.”
“What’re you doing here? Surely you didn’t come here just to hop in the tub with me.”
“No,” she smiled, and began massaging his feet. “But that is one of the perks.”
Her hands worked wonders. He didn’t want her to stop, and he sure as hell didn’t tell her to, but it was hard for him to concentrate with her so vibrant and voluptuous and dazzling, and naked and wet and covered with bubbles ... One slipped over an exposed nipple and burst.
“No,” he protested.
“You want me to stop?”
“Maybe just slow down a little ... oh, God, no ... yes ... That just made it worse. Why’d you come here?”