Immortal War

by Justin Somper

  “Of course!” Lorcan said, eschewing the Federation salute and bowing formally before his longtime commander. “You command my loyalty and my love.”

  Obsidian turned his eyes now to Grace. “What about you?” he asked. “Is your loyalty still with me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You don’t need to ask either of us. The fact that we feel we can bring matters of disagreement to you shows the strength of your command.”

  Obsidian nodded, smiling softly. “A good point, as usual,” he said, stepping away from the wheel, which continued to turn back and forth precisely as if his hands were still guiding it. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Come, my friends, let us go down together to the Feast.”

  Grace knew Obsidian Darke was doing everything in his power to reassure them, but, despite this, her sense of unease was deeper than ever.

  The dark shadows of three ships, drawn from the Vampirates’ hundred-strong fleet, made their way across the ocean toward The Nocturne. Each of the ship’s captains—Sidorio on The Blood Captain; Stukeley on The Redeemer; and Mimma on The Calabria—monitored their progress from the prow of his, or her, ship. Each captain was backed up by a ruthless and battle-hungry crew. No one was in any doubt that tonight would mark a decisive victory for the renegade Vampirates and, if all went according to plan, the end of the war and the unquestioned expansion of the empire of night.

  Sidorio stood squarely on the deck of The Blood Captain, Johnny at his right hand. They were both looking ahead. Sidorio was smiling.

  “It’s in our sights,” he said, his adrenaline pumping off the scale. “This is going to be one Feast Night they won’t ever forget—those we don’t kill in order to take over command.” He put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “I used to be a lieutenant on that ship. Imagine that!”

  Johnny laughed. “I can’t imagine you ever being a mere lieutenant,” he said. “On that or any other ship.”

  “I was,” Sidorio said, feeling the might of his ship beneath him. “And no more than twelve months since. Sometimes we immortals pay insufficient heed to time. It’s amazing what can change in the course of a year.”

  Johnny nodded, his eyes focused on the strange, sparking sails of The Nocturne, closer and closer now. “You’re going back to claim it for your own.”

  “Yes,” Sidorio agreed. “Either that or to destroy it.”

  36

  UNDER ATTACK

  The Nocturnals and donors stood facing one another across the long banqueting table, heads bowed as Obsidian spoke the words Mosh Zu had written to commence the Feast.

  I am a proud voyager of the night.

  No lesser, nor greater, than a being of the light.

  I will not hide in the shadows…

  Lorcan became aware of Oskar watching him from across the table. He realized his friend was trying to attract his attention. “Is everything okay?” Oskar whispered. “You look…” Lorcan brought his finger to his lips. It was bad form to talk during the Nocturnal incantation.

  … For blood is a gift above all worldly treasure.

  I give thanks for this gift. I embrace my immortality…

  Suddenly, from nowhere came a loud crash and the room lurched to starboard. Seconds later, before they had the chance to recover themselves, a second crash came from the stern, raising the room onto a slope. Then a third collision from the port side, causing further shock and confusion.

  Even after the room stopped moving, it was chaos. Chairs slid away from the table, rolling and crashing into the sides of the cabin. The cutlery began moving along the white tablecloth, like a river gaining momentum, colliding with the crystal glassware as both headed for the floor. Oskar reached out to catch the lit candelabra, just in the nick of time. Farther along the table, another candelabra was rescued, but a third fell to the floor and flames began licking at the deck boards. A fast-thinking donor and Nocturnal pair threw jugs of water over it, quenching the fire. Slowly, the room came back into balance, but it looked as if a bomb had hit it.

  “What was that?” Oskar asked Lorcan.

  Lorcan was about to answer when, to his amazement, he heard Obsidian continuing with the incantation.

  I relish this journey through all eternity.

  No lesser, nor greater, than a being of the light.

  I am a proud voyager of the night.

  The doors to the dining hall were thrown open and two Nocturnals ran into the room, finally silencing the captain.

  “We’re under attack!” they cried in unison.

  Lorcan caught Grace’s glance across the table. Her expression was grave. Everything they had predicted had come to pass.

  “How many ships?” Lorcan cried at the messengers from above.

  “Three!” shouted the first Nocturnal.

  “We’ve already lost men and women!” cried the other. “We need help!”

  Their words caused a swell of chatter in the room, which now rose to fever pitch. Still, as Obsidian Darke raised his hand, the room fell silent.

  “Attack Protocol,” he said in his most commanding voice. “You all know what you have to do.”

  It was true. They had been preparing for the eventuality of attack for some time now. Within seconds, Lorcan’s own team—the elite fighters—had gathered around him.

  “Commander Furey!” One of his best men grabbed his arm. “We have no swords!”

  Of course they didn’t! It was a convention of the Feast that there were no weapons inside the dining hall. Accordingly, the Nocturnals and donors had all left their swords in their cabins. How were they supposed to quell an attack with no weapons?

  Lorcan turned helplessly to Grace. “How did we let it come to this?” he cried.

  Grace did not answer. Her eyes were closed and her hands outstretched. She was chanting in a language he did not recognize. What on earth was she doing?

  Then he noticed fresh movement along the table and on the floor. Once more, cutlery was moving about. Had a fourth ship pulled up alongside to cause a fresh collision? Suddenly, the cutlery began rising from the floor and table and spun, faster and faster, around the room. Lorcan and the others were frozen, gazing in amazement as knives, forks, and spoons whirled about above their heads. Lorcan’s eyes turned back to Grace. Eyes closed, arms outstretched, she continued to chant.

  There was a blur as the cutlery spun faster and faster. Then it began to slow and Lorcan saw that above their heads were no longer knives and forks but swords. How on earth had she done it? And, of more immediate concern, how were they going to claim the weapons without being sliced in two in the process?

  His answer came as the movement above slowed and the swords hovered in the air, hilts facing down. Along the banqueting table there were now two lines of swords, waiting to be claimed. It was nothing short of a miracle.

  “Take your swords,” Lorcan cried, gazing in wonder and love at Grace, whose eyes remained closed as she held the swords in position.

  Each Nocturnal and donor reached above his or her head and took hold of a solid steel sword, which Grace had somehow delivered to them.

  “And now,” Obsidian cried, leading the charge out of the hall, “we fight!”

  It could have been chaos as the crew of Nocturnals and donors streamed out of the sole doorway, but somehow it wasn’t. The long nights, and days, of training had paid off. Everyone knew what was at stake and everyone wanted to play his or her part in securing victory.

  Lorcan watched as Grace opened her eyes at last. She looked momentarily disoriented, then smiled to see the lines of Nocturnals and donors armed with their gleaming weaponry.

  “I don’t know how you did that, Grace,” he said, “but wow!” He reached for her hand. “Come on!”

  “Where are we going?” she asked as they ran out into the corridor. Lorcan realized that, alone among the crew, Grace had not been trained in the emergency drills. It was somewhat ironic, given that she was the most powerful of them all. Still, he didn’t want to take any chances.
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  “I’m going out on deck,” Lorcan said. “And you’re going back to your cabin to wait this out.”

  He thought she might argue but was grateful that she didn’t. Hand in hand, they ran along the corridor after their comrades. Above them, they could hear steel clashing against steel. There could be no doubt. The fight was under way.

  As they came to her cabin, Grace pushed open the door and pulled him inside.

  “Grace, I need to go!” Lorcan said, as the door shut behind them.

  “You need to be strong,” she said, drawing back her sleeve and offering her wrist to him. There was no doubting her intention. He could see the veins pulsating beneath her skin.

  “I can’t,” he said, shaking his head as his heart beat wildly.

  “You must,” she said. “The Vampirates have been clever, arriving here just when the Nocturnals are at their lowest ebb. You need blood now if you’re to put up a proper fight. And, make no mistake, tonight you must put up a proper fight.”

  Lorcan held her hand in his but shook his head once more. “I’ll find Oskar,” he said. “I’ll drink from him.”

  Grace shook her head. “There’s no time,” she said. “Let me do this one thing for you.”

  Lorcan’s eyes met hers. It was something he used to dream of, but not like this. But, if not now, then when?

  “All right,” he said. “But only a drop.”

  Nodding, she lifted her wrist to his lips and waited for his fangs to puncture her flesh.

  Lorcan watched in awe as the wound began to heal in front of his eyes. He looked up at Grace. Her face was beatific.

  “You’re wonderful,” he said, smiling. “I hope you know that.”

  “You’re pretty wonderful, yourself,” she said.

  “There’s so much I want to say to you, Grace. I thought we were assured of spending eternity together, but now I see how much time I’ve wasted.”

  Grace smiled reassuringly at him and shook her head. “We didn’t waste a second,” she said, her eyes bright. “And now you must go and win this war.”

  “All right,” he said. “And you’ll stay here and wait for me?”

  Once more, he expected her to protest, but she nodded and lifted her hand to stroke his hair. He leaned forward and kissed her. It was a brief, urgent kiss. As their lips parted, Lorcan stood there looking at Grace, aware that the clock was ticking and he had to leave her. Despite her words of reassurance, he was conscious of the very real possibility that they had shared their last kiss. He couldn’t think this way. Head down, he turned and reached for the door.

  “Wait!” she called out to him.

  “I can’t!” He wanted to, more than anything, but the battle was calling him. He had no choice but to answer its call.

  “What should I do?” she asked.

  “Stay here and keep safe!” he said. “And do everything in your power to ensure we’re victorious.”

  “Everything?” she said, her eyes meeting his across the cabin. He thought he understood what she was asking.

  He nodded. “Everything,” he repeated then turned and began to run up to the deck.

  37

  OBLIVION

  Lorcan charged up to the deck, feeling boosted physically and mentally by the shot of blood Grace had given him. Though he was accustomed to the fresh influx of energy that followed blood-taking, this was far more intense. He wondered whether, as a dhampir, Grace’s blood was more potent than Oskar’s, or whether the power stemmed from the electrifying intimacy of sharing her blood for the first time. These thoughts faded the moment he set foot on the upper deck. In their place came panic, fear, and dismay. There was no question that the Nocturnals were outnumbered. Worse still, he alone of the crew had benefited from a shot of blood. The others were at their weakest and it showed in their lackluster efforts. He could still see the signs of their intensive combat training, but they might as well have been fighting with blunt weapons. The Nocturnals were off their game, just when they faced their most critical fight.

  In comparison, the donors had thrown themselves into the battle. Lorcan caught sight of Oskar, far across the deck, squaring up to a young-looking female Vampirate. Judging from her extravagant uniform, Lorcan surmised she must be a captain. Her movements were lithe as a serpent and Lorcan found himself uttering a prayer for his donor and hoping he hadn’t overextended himself.

  Suddenly a familiar voice boomed in his ear. “Midshipman Furey!”

  Lorcan looked up to find Sidorio bearing down upon him, sword drawn. “You’re out of touch,” Lorcan cried, readying his own sword. “I’m a commander now.”

  “You?” Sidorio laughed. “Dress it up as much as you like, Furey. We all know that you’re a pacifist. Like your captain and the rest of your crew.”

  “Take a look around!” Lorcan cried, as he and Sidorio exchanged blows. “Does this look like a ship of pacifists to you?”

  Sidorio did not take his eyes away from Lorcan, but this didn’t prevent him from declaring his verdict. “Looks like a ship of losers to me!” They circled each other, their mutual dislike evident in their eyes. “Looks to me like a weakened, dying force,” Sidorio continued. “Why draw this out? Why pretend you can fight? Call over your captain and sound the defeat. You never know—I might take pity on you, for old times’ sake.”

  Lorcan shook his head. “We don’t want your pity!” he said.

  “And by the way,” Sidorio continued, “while I’ve got you on your own, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now. Keep your bloodless hands off my daughter!” He nodded. “I know you’ve been sniffing around Grace for months now, but she’s out of your league, understand?” He smiled unpleasantly. “From this night forward, she won’t be having anything more to do with you.”

  Sidorio was smirking at Lorcan, as he had done many times before. Holding his nerve as firmly as his sword, Lorcan smiled back. He had seen what Sidorio was as yet blissfully unaware of.

  Obsidian had heard Sidorio’s rantings and was making his way swiftly across the deck—in his anger, easily dispatching several of Sidorio’s squad en route.

  “I suggest we let Grace be the one to decide whom she does and doesn’t want in her life,” Lorcan said, watching Obsidian approach, sword raised.

  “A father knows best,” Sidorio said, shaking his head and puffing out his chest smugly as he made a jab at Lorcan.

  Lorcan stepped neatly to one side as Obsidian brought his sword up against his rival’s neck. The look of surprise on Sidorio’s face was something to savor.

  “Turn around, renegade,” Obsidian commanded. “I will not be cheated of my fight with you.”

  Sidorio was quick to recover. “Nor I with you!” he exclaimed, turning to face his ancient foe.

  As Obsidian and Sidorio squared up to each other, Lorcan hastened across the deck, taking stock of the overall situation. It was bad. Really bad. Many Nocturnals and donors had fallen, and the predominance of serge uniforms proclaimed the full extent of the dominating Vampirate force.

  Lorcan caught sight of Oskar once again. His donor was now locked in one-to-one combat with a figure Lorcan recognized as Stukeley, Sidorio’s joint deputy. In the split second it took to assess the situation, Lorcan felt equal parts pride for his donor’s extraordinary bravery and fear for Oskar’s life. Letting out a roar, he charged at Stukeley, causing the Vampirate to turn away from Oskar and defend himself.

  “Aha!” Stukeley cried out with pleasure as their swords clashed. “At last, a worthy opponent. Though you might just wait while I finish off this mortal.”

  “I’ll finish you first,” Lorcan cried, his sword once more meeting Stukeley’s and leaving his adversary in no doubt as to the threat.

  “Go!” Lorcan commanded Oskar. Gratefully, the donor ran off as Lorcan took over from him.

  “I’ll give him his due,” Stukeley said. “He fought well for a mere mortal.”

  “You were a mortal not so long ago,” Lorcan said. “Hav
e you conveniently forgotten that, or have you been brainwashed by Sidorio and Lola?”

  Stukeley shook his head. “We don’t go in for brainwashing on our side, Commander. We leave that up to you and your masked captain.”

  “He’s not masked anymore, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Lorcan said gruffly. His blade met Stukeley’s and they parried back across the deck.

  “Masked or not,” rasped Stukeley, “he’d better watch out—Sidorio will make mincemeat of him!”

  “It’s Sidorio who had better watch out,” Lorcan snarled. “Obsidian is a far more powerful Nocturnal.”

  “Pah!” Stukeley spat onto the deck between them. “There’s no such thing as Nocturnals! You’re a Vampirate, Furey, no different from Sidorio and me—only you’re the self-hating kind, just like your pathetic excuse for a captain.”

  Stukeley made a fresh lunge at Lorcan. He was incredibly fast. Lorcan swerved to his side in the nick of time.

  “Very good!” Stukeley nodded approvingly as they held each other’s gaze once more. “You have more fight in you than I’d expected.”

  “You have no idea!” Lorcan cried, launching himself at Stukeley once more. “I’ll finish you off and then turn my attentions to your pal Johnny. Where is he, by the way? I can’t see him in the melee.”

  “Johnny?” Stukeley shrugged. “His mission is very cut and dried on this occasion,” he said. “He only has one target in his sights.” He smiled. “I wonder if you can guess who that is?”

  There was no need for Stukeley to say the name. When had Johnny’s target been anyone other than Grace? Lorcan felt a terrible ache in his head and a chill race along his spine. He had to dispatch Stukeley and find a way to get to Grace. His eyes darted over Stukeley’s shoulder, looking for Oskar. He had a momentary thought that he could send Oskar to warn her. But where had Oskar gone?