by Jack Conner
Francois thought it odd that the shades that most deserved to be here, the working Castle soldiers, were in large part not here. They manned the battlements of the two upper courtyards and the taller battlements to the southeast, where visitors (on any other night) were received via helicopter. Also, they lay waiting above the catacombs for the Libertarians’ invasion.
To the Ambassador (as that is how he still thought of himself) the soldiers were the ones that needed to be here most, to hear his words and give their voice to the suffrage. After all, they were the ones that would ultimately fight this war, one way or another, and it struck him as terribly wrong that they were not present. But they were needed where they were, and he understood and accepted that, only with the knowledge that through word of mouth they would hear what he had to say—and soon he would let them vote as well.
“My friends,” he said. “Thank you all for coming. I hope my words are worthy of the audience before me. Most of you have probably heard of what transpired last night, when I temporarily forced the Lord Sarnova out of office. I did this for two reasons: one, to stop an even bloodier coup, one in which my friend—and yes, Roche is still my friend—might have been killed; and second, because I feared his fierce passion for continuing the war would spell doom for us all. It is this cause that I wish to speak of, because it is something that most of you know nothing about, but I will get to that in a moment.”
When he saw he held their full attention, he continued. “By now, most of you, if not all, have learned that I am a kavasari. I am, let there be no doubt. I understand any anger or resentment you may hold for me for concealing such a secret for so long, and I beg your forgiveness in this matter, as I had little choice but to keep my true nature hidden. Had I been seen as a kavasari before, I would surely have been brought down by those who feared me. But there is no need for fear; the only shades I have ever fed upon were the confessed evil-doers rotting away in the dungeons. Never once have I preyed amongst you, my friends of old.
“Still, there are many more secrets to be told, and the night grows long while I expound. So let me be direct. The Lord Roche Sarnova wants to establish a land of our own. He wants to declare the immortal presence to the human population and wants to petition for our own country, where all shades shall be free and welcomed. He calls it the Jerusalem of the Undead. A homeland.
“He announced his idea and his plans to the Dark Council, of which I was a part, and it was this idea that tore the Council in two. Much has Roche regretted not having told you of the reason behind the Rift, but he wanted to stabilize his Council before announcing the plan to the world. And that, in short, is what this war has been about. Subaire and her Half elected against the plan, but the other Half, of which Roche and I were a part, were staunch supporters of it. We were at an impasse, and a fierce one.
“Neither side would back down. Subaire and her Half fled to London with the forces that were loyal to them and, since, have waged a war against the Lord Sarnova and his Half ... several of whom we’ve discovered to be traitors, moles, implants that ferried vital information to her. This is why we were losing the war: because Subaire knew everything we would do before we would do it. It’s the reason why I stepped in and took Roche’s position: because I am more cynical than he is and knew that, riddled with spies as we were, we could not hold out against her Half and their army. Especially when the Libertarians embarked upon their unholy crusade against us, allying themselves with both Subaire and the Balaklavian chalgids Junger and Jagoda—and their respective armies.
“Now, with three armies poised to crush us, I come to you, my people, and ask your opinion. Only you can halt this war. I have set up a means for a vote.” Quickly, he outlined the procedure. “Now, my friends, I ask you what you think. Is the idea of a homeland for all immortals worth fighting and perhaps dying for? Is the idea of announcing ourselves to the human populace sound? I leave it in your hands. Please, if you would, begin the vote.”
He drew back from the balustrade and let Robby assume the foremost position. Silently, Francois cursed the fact that he hadn’t been able to tell his subjects of the Refuge and of the nine dragons lying in wait, as he felt that if they held this knowledge, they would be more willing to fight, but Junger and Jagoda undoubtedly had spies placed here, and if the Balaklava knew of the nine dragons, the Castle’s ace in the hole would be revealed. Though an ace out of its hole was still an ace, it wasn’t nearly as effective. Francois closed his eyes and opened them slowly, trying for calm. An almost overpowering urge for a cigarette seized him as he waited for the vote to be completed.
Finally, Robby turned away from the railing. Francois found himself rendered speechless with anticipation.
“Lord Mauchlery,” said the human.
“Yes, Robby. Tell me the figures.”
“Thirty-nine percent in favor of Roche’s plan. The rest against.”
Shaking in fury, Francois marched toward the balustrade and gripped it so tightly he could feel it crumbling beneath his hands. No sign of weakness this time.
“Thirty-nine percent in favor of a homeland!” he roared. “Thirty-nine percent! You, I applaud your bravery and your open-mindedness. The other sixty-one percent, damn you! As the acting Dark Lord, I proclaim you weaklings and cowards, every one! And I command you to leave, NOW. Go to your rooms, pack your fucking bags, and GET THE HELL OUT OF THE CASTLE! And no helicopters for you, either. Go down to the Lower Courtyard and leave over the drawbridge, your stinking tails tucked between your cowardly legs. March through the mountains, you miserable pieces of SHIT!”
The audience stood stunned. No one made any move to leave. Francois, his fury spent, felt nearly as stunned as they, but he felt joyous and glad, too. Send the cowards packing. They were not fit to live in or even to set eyes on the Castle again.
He raised one hand and pointed a rigid finger south, toward the still-open oak doors. “GO!”
The shades stared up at him, open-mouthed. Francois gritted his teeth and submitted a message to Gethraul, telling the dragon to inform Roche of the results. “Go!” he roared again. Still they just stood there.
That’s what killed them.
For, even as they gawked up at the Ambassador, a missile flared out from the southwest battlement and drove straight into the heart of the crowd. As it detonated and an orange-white brilliance momentarily blinded Francois, he thought, So.
The tactical nuclear weapon detonated on impact, sending a spherical wave of destructive in all directions. In the blink of an eye, it killed all of the humans and most of the shades assembled in the Courtyard. It also collapsed the thick stone floor in a two-hundred-foot circle. Three lower levels of the Castle were blown apart, as well, at least where the shock-wave and the ceilings collapsed.
The blast spread out to all sides in the Upper Courtyard, crumbling walls and battlements and catwalks. Those structures that still held were scorched and blackened and cracked in a thousand places.
The white tower in which Francois stood was hurled backward through the mid-catwalk and began deteriorating as the shock-wave broke it apart. Robby was killed instantly, and several other shades died shortly thereafter.
Francois, thrown back against the far wall and burned from head to toe, survived due to his age and power. As the tower crumbled and fell apart, its momentum slowed and it plummeted into the Northern Courtyards, where it came to rest in the hedge-maze.
Francois screamed in pain, but somehow found the strength to climb out of the wreckage of the tower.
“What … ?”
Green walls of vegetation surrounded him. This courtyard had been protected by the high walls separating it from the courtyard to the south.
Ash rained down on him. All he could hear was the roar of the blast in his ears, even though it must have faded by now. That, and a ringing.
Stumbling in confusion, he became lost in the labyrinth, where he searched for other survivors of the tower, but there were none. Utterly shell-shocked, the Ambas
sador found himself in the heart of the maze, where a little gazebo and fountain stood. He plodded over to the fountain and splashed water on his face to clear his head, and when the pool calmed he stared down at the blackened creature that he’d become.
He raised his head to the night sky and screamed.
It was then that he noticed that the red light of the Red Light Outpost was out. The Castle was being overrun.
Naked black arms flung to either side, he turned his face back to the stars and loosed a howl so loud that some of them seemed to tremble.
Then he roared again. Only this time, it was to the dragons.
And the last great battle of the War of the Dark Council began.
* * *
Down in the Sabo, Junger and Jagoda laughed, long and hard. Though the zombie that had delivered the missile had been quickly killed by the soldiers on top of the roofless battlement that hadn’t been zombies (soldiers who had quickly been blown off the tower by the shockwave immediately afterward), the assassins had seen through their slave’s eyes the explosion and devastation. And were pleased.
Had Ruegger really thought them so stupid that they’d allow Byron to keep the nuke once word got out that he had it? No, that wouldn’t do at all. As soon as Ruegger escaped, they’d ordered Byron to pass along the weapon to another zombie, a former Castle guard, and had given the Australian a sufficiently weird-looking weapon in its place that would allay any suspicion that he didn’t have the nuke.
Still celebrating, they sent a message to Greek, a zombie hovering around Maleasoel, telling her to begin the battle.
They laughed and laughed. Their merriment rang long beneath the hundreds of hanging chains and the dozen human birdcages above.
Suddenly, their laughter ceased.
The Sabo had alerted them to a new presence in the Labyrinth.
Amelia.
They turned to each other silently, somberly, and nodded. They’d been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.
Chapter 8
On top of the mountain, the tall figure of Subaire surveyed the wreckage of the Red Light Outpost with satisfaction, letting the sharp wind blow through her short red hair. She had followed Junger and Jagoda’s instructions (delivered by Loirot) to the letter. At exactly nine o’clock, she and her hundred troops had stormed the outpost; afterwards, they were to wait for the nuclear explosion in the Upper Courtyard before beginning their assault on the Castle itself.
It came soon enough, that bright globe of death that killed at least two hundred of her former mates and destroyed a decent portion of the Castle, as well. She’d never expected aid to come in the form of those hellish assassins, but she was glad it had, even if the cost was the reduction of her future empire.
Turning to a subordinate, she said, “Begin dismantling the outpost, Major.”
He bellowed orders to the troops. They’d use the flat surfaces of what remained of the outpost as flying carpets, on which they’d descend to the Castle. They couldn’t have done such a thing if not for another group of powerful and unexpected allies: the mysterious and frightening order that called themselves the Sangro Sankts. Without them, Subaire’s Half would never have stood a chance against Roche Sarnova. But with their bloods and the inside information they garnered, victory was more than possible.
Ten of her hundred troops had recently been given the blood to strengthen their telekinetic abilities; in such a way, Subaire’s army could use sections of the roof and walls of the outpost to swoop down on the Castle. For whatever reason, it seemed that the fates simply were not in favor of Roche and his damned Jerusalem—and thank the gods for that.
Subaire wasn’t one to question good luck, and she didn’t now. She was a woman long accustomed to getting her way, and she was sure that she would get it tonight. She’d been a member of the Dark Council for over a thousand years, and every century her thirst for power had grown, until at last Blackie had made his colossal folly, announcing his plan to make humans aware of immortal existence. Stupid, stupid Roche. Impulsive and driven by trivial ideals that Subaire could only sneer at. Finally, after a millennium, he’d slipped up, and she’d jumped on that mistake and not let go.
Now she would smash Sarnova to his knees, if he wasn’t dead already, and sit on the throne she’d hungered for for so long.
The only foreseeable problem was Maleasoel and her own thirst for power, as Loirot had so clearly illustrated. Through him, Junger and Jagoda had promised to aid Subaire and her Half against the Libertarians once the Castle soldiers were beaten. Normally, she would’ve questioned the motives of the assassins, but since everything thus far had pointed toward a successful triumph over Sarnova and her ultimate instatement as the new Dark Lord, or Lady, it seemed that the fates were too far in her favor to question their ultimate trajectory.
“Grand General,” the Major said. “We’ve got the surfaces we need. Should we begin the final assault?”
“Yes, Major,” she said. “Let’s take the Castle.”
* * *
Even after his humiliation at the hands of Lord Ruegger, Major Ackmoore had stayed in command of his unit—that was, until Colonel Hernandez came down with his fifty soldiers and assumed responsibility for guarding the catacombs. In a way, Ackmoore was relieved; the reinforcements would be sorely needed in the case of an attack and, if things did not go their way, he didn’t want to be in the position of blame. Combined, the Colonel’s and Ackmoore’s soldiers numbered just less than a hundred, and up against the Libbies and the Balaklava those seemed poor odds. Col. Hernandez came equipped with motion detectors, which he swiftly ordered his men to implant downstairs.
And bombs. He brought those with him, too. When the motion detectors picked up the Libertarian invasion, the Castle soldiers would detonate the bombs and drop two levels of ceiling onto them. Meanwhile, the soldiers waited tensely, their machine guns and rocket launchers poised for action.
Suddenly, they felt the rumble resulting from the nuclear explosion. The Castle trembled briefly, but it was far too large and sturdy to be crushed by even a tactical nuke. Still, Ackmoore and the others knew what it meant: the weapon everyone had been so worried about had not been recovered, after all.
Even as the soldiers hunkered in the eerie silence following the rumble, they knew that everyone in the Courtyard, including the new Dark Lord, were probably dead.
One of the techs piped up, “I read motion below. The Libbies. They’re moving fast!”
With just a slight tremor in his voice, Col. Hernandez said, “Okay, men. Whatever we may think, whatever’s happened above, don’t assume the worst. I’m sure the Lords are in complete control of the situation.” The Colonel took a steadying breath. “On a count of five, trigger the bombs. Five ... four ... three ...”
As Ackmoore listened to the countdown, he didn’t stop to consider that the diminishing numbers might be among the final words he’d ever hear.
* * *
Other than the troops manning the helipad battlements at the very southeastern end of the Castle (the front of the castle as seen by air, reserved mainly for receiving and sending off visitors), the surviving soldiers in the wrecked towers of the Upper Courtyards and those under Colonel Hernandez’s control, there were about sixty soldiers left in the Castle.
When the soldiers in the battlements of the Upper Courtyards saw the light in the Red Light Outpost had vanished, they informed the sixty of what had happened, then organized two units to go down into the courtyards and determine the number of survivors.
When the sixty learned of the Red Light Outpost being taken, twenty of their number were sent to man the last ten attack helicopters in the Castle’s air force in the hopes that an air strike would defeat whoever had taken the mountaintop. The general assumption was that the enemy was Subaire’s Half. The other forty members divided into two teams; thirty descended to assist Col. Hernandez against the Libertarians and ten moved to help the survivors of the blast.
* * *
&
nbsp; Maleasoel watched through her human fodder’s eyes as they encountered the first of the motion detectors. She ordered a swift rush forwards, knowing that an explosion would soon follow, which it did. Predictably, a couple of levels crashed down on the humans’ heads, but that was what fodder was for. She didn’t give it a second thought. Fifty humans may be dead, but it might make the Castle guards just above a little more cocksure, a little more lax.
Carried in a litter by her lackeys near the rear of the procession, she ordered the attack to commence.
The Libertarians charged through the smoking debris and human remains, hit a spiral staircase running and swung up its dusty stone steps until they were at the highest level of the catacombs. Here they paused, and the rest of the mortal fodder were given missiles and arms.
The humans assaulted the final staircase, firing missiles and shooting their guns into the waiting Castle soldiers, who returned fire. The humans killed ten of them before the last of the fodder was brought down, and Malie simply watched.
Next came the zombies.
Like creatures out of hell, they swarmed toward the staircase, keeping close to the shadowy walls for cover as they ran. They fired their missiles, at the same time dodging and ducking the hail of their enemies. In fact, the zombies were so successful that they actually made the stairwell. Still shooting mindlessly into the enemy, the blood-slaves fell upon the Castle soldiers. The soldiers cut most of the deaders down, but the charge provided the necessary time for the next step of Malie’s plan to proceed.
Capt. Raulf D’Aguila and his men stormed the stairs firing rockets and machine guns. The Captain encountered severe resistance from the Castle troops and was heavily engaged in close combat when the first of the Collages climbed up the stairwell. It crushed and ate the Castle soldiers with bloody glee, and Raulf made sure to keep out of its way.