Blood Winter: Immortalibus Bella 3

by SL Figuhr

  “What the hell you be wanting?” Jenfry spat, legs apart, fists propped on ample hips. “I paid me taxes.”

  “Jenfry Bartender, I am here to exact retribution. You failed to follow my orders.”

  The older woman let out a cackle, showing rotting stumps of teeth. “You ain’t no better than the whore slaves I own. You stole me daughter.”

  “I bought your daughter,” the advisor emotionlessly corrected, “with the proviso you have no contact with her.” A sly smile of self-satisfaction upturned the corners of her mouth.

  The tavern owner mistook the sudden gleam which turned the duchess’s eyes into glowing coals. “Well?” she berated her patrons. “What’re you waiting for? Call yourselves warriors and fighters? Ya can get outta my place if you haven’t the guts to take on a whore who’s stupid to ride on in.”

  “Oh goody, I was hoping she’d be stupid,” Eron voiced for Illyria only, a sudden rush of adrenaline flooding his system. He felt a stirring, a whisper of displaced air and whipped his sword out and around the horse’s flanks.

  A clang of metal on metal reached his ears a moment before two figures hurtled themselves at the horse, intent on bringing the beast down. To Eron, it felt as if time slowed a notch. His foot and sword flicked out faster than he had been able to manage before drinking of the vamp’s blood. The attackers fell back, but it seemed the signal the rest of the patrons waited for. Time snapped back to its usual pace. War cries and bodies flooded the two riders in an attempt to bring them down.

  Illyria felt grubby fingers, and tips of weapons, brush within centimeters of her. She released her power in the manner of a bomb going off, with herself ground zero. The onrushing horde blew backward in a wide circle, the inner ring taking parts of the outer with them. She followed up the display by twisting in her saddle, and whomever her gaze landed upon, blood exploded from their orifices.

  “Greedy bitch. Haven’t you heard of sharing?” Eron grumbled as he set his horse in motion, forced to follow his prey, and hack them down where they landed.

  Henrik stood stunned, pop-eyed at the impossible taking place, hands frozen around the mug he had been cleaning. Jenfry’s derisive laughter abruptly stopped as crimson coated her.

  “You ain’t no different than Lord Nicky! Witch! She’s an evil witch!” she shrieked.

  “Run, little beasties. Run,” Illyria commanded gleefully as she surveyed the chaos she’d created.

  The smarter criminals had already heeded her words, fleeing in an effort to put distance between them and death. Those who were too stupid, or blinded by base emotions, tried another attack. They flew back to smash into the remains of walls and ceiling. Most had only the breath painfully knocked from them, a few felt bones break. None lived more than a few minutes after landing.

  Throughout it all, the torches remained burning. A long shadow fell over the petrified form of Jenfry, her breath whistling in fear.

  “I promised Mary Elana I would let no more harm come to her by your hand. I do so hate to disappoint the girl, especially after all she’s been through. Besides, what sort of person would I be if I broke my word?”

  Illyria held her long train gathered up in her left hand so it wouldn’t become soiled as she dismounted and stalked up to Jenfry. Her right hand wrapped around the tavern owner’s throat, and yanked the woman forward. Briefly, her gaze bored into Henrik’s.

  “Go away. This does not concern you.”

  The man felt his bowels loosen as he gazed deep into hellish depths. His subconscious pinged awareness the real ruler stood before him. “As my Dark Queen commands.” He barely felt himself rise from his deep bow, or his legs and feet carry him into the kitchen, away from the tavern owner’s fate.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Dawn didn’t rise so much as the past night reluctantly faded from blackness to dark gray. Slaves and other early risers discovered a new dimension to the problems plaguing Macinas. Their screams and shrieks echoed throughout the ruined town’s streets, and the corridors of the royal palace. The cause for all the commotion soon became apparent as more and more townsfolk were awoken by the ruckus.

  Bodies of the dead lay where once had been sleeping people. Half had stab wounds to the heart; others, only the tracks of dried blood from their orifices.

  “Who could do such a thing?”

  “The priest was right, we are harboring evil. We’re all doomed!”

  “Why, oh why? My Robbie never hurt no one!”

  Voices rose with a mixture of emotions. It didn’t take long for those who made the palace their temporary refuge to waylay royal servants, demanding the king come out and address his people.

  For those who mourned, time seemed too fast, while for others it seemed too slow. Eventually, all were invited to gather inside the throne room. The king sat slumped to one side of his golden, gem-encrusted throne. To his right stood Aranthus; to his left, Dr. Greggson. At the top of the stairs leading to the dais, the advisor calmly waited. She had on the breast plate, bracers, and greaves made to imitate skulls, wolf heads, and snakes which formed the age-blackened armor. Her sword handles could be seen rising from behind her shoulders. The whole effect gave her a sinister presence. A pace behind, and to her left, stood a dark-haired and -eyed man.

  They waited in silence, letting the voices rise and fall, reminiscent of waves. When the hall was packed with people, and more could be seen clogging the doorway and outer courtyard, she raised one arm with palm out.

  “Silence.” The sibilant whisper cut through the babble and she let her arm fall to her side.

  Tension grew, not even coughs or rustles of clothing disturbing the stillness. Even the relentless winter wind failed to blow.

  “Macinas has fallen, and all those harboring corruption who supported it. Do not despair. Illthanthia and new opportunities arise, and I shall lead. Bow before your Raven Queen.”

  The announcement stunned many who thought the days of fighting over the throne were behind them. Others voiced dissent.

  “BOW BEFORE YOUR RAVEN QUEEN!”

  The command rang out, cutting off the noise.

  “BOW SO I MAY KNOW FRIEND FROM FOE.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, people did so singularly or in small groups, until more and more joined those on bended knee. The duchess, now self-proclaimed queen, waited a few more minutes. When no one else moved, her gaze noted all who elected to remain standing.

  “Rise, with my thanks for your new loyalty. We will continue to rebuild the town, and our lives. Those who have died were traitors, corrupt men and women seeking only to profit from the subjugation of others. Those who devote themselves to the town and its peoples without thought of riches and glory will earn their rewards. Now go, and await my commands as you continue your lives.”

  All those gathered felt a compulsion to leave, and begin the day’s work. Some gladly followed, some fought it, others remained unsure. Eventually, they all left the throne room, leaving behind both the old, and new, rulers.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  Nicky fought with all his strength against the invisible bindings. He couldn’t see; darkness swirled around him. What felt like tentacles reached out for him as he hurtled toward some unknown destination. The boy tried screaming, but no sound escaped. Flashes went off all around him, briefly illuminating places and things no human had ever realized existed or even successfully accessed. He felt himself tumble around as he struggled to free himself. Behind, leading back into the darkness and a thick blue rope, was a silver line veering off the main strand abruptly ending in frayed tendrils. The kid put all his efforts into reaching back toward the snapped lines and managed to snag a stray thread.

  His hand exploded in pain, racing up his arm and into his head. He silently howled, yet refused to let go. He would not go quietly, not even now.

  * * *

  “You know of whom I speak. Now I want to know where I can find her. I told you before—”

  A mocking laugh interrupted him. “You want! Fu
ck you! Until you’ve upheld your end of the deal, you get nothing.”

  “I’ve done what you wanted . . .”

  “You don’t even know her name, do you? Or what she can really do.”

  Nicky gritted his teeth, “I gave you a way to insert trackers into our kind and not have them rejected. A feat a dumb ass such as yourself would never be able to think up, much less accomplish, on your own.”

  The older man’s eyes narrowed, his scar making him more frightening. “Keep telling yourself that, brat. I know of someone who would love to get his hands on you.”

  A sneer crossed the kid’s lips, “You’re an even bigger idiot. My powers—”

  “Charlatan’s tricks. She thought the same and tried using her powers against me; yet she couldn’t save herself from my . . . attentions. It was really quite entertaining, making her plead and scream while I used her as my test subject. I bet, if I used you for the next phase, you wouldn’t last half as long.”

  “Tell me what I want to know, or you’ll be missing your favorite body part,” Nicky countered, forming the words in his head for a sunburst.

  The anger and insolence dropped from the older man’s face, replaced by a blankness and evil shining deep in his dark eyes. He leapt forward and sideways suddenly. Nicky unleashed the sphere he held in one hand. He knew the guy wouldn’t attack straight on. The light burst, blinding the man and letting Nicky turn and run away.

  * * *

  “Insolent worm! You think you can escape me?”

  Talons tore strips off his body, blackness oozed out as he screamed in agony. It was the sensation of all the pain he had brought to his own victims. The little boy felt what was left of him start to shatter.

  No! I won’t become nothing! I am somebody! I am the greatest immortal ever! I am Nicky!

  “Yesssssss, this agony is just a taste of what you owe me.”

  The kid tried to ignore the mental and soul torture the demon flayed him with, to hold himself together. He had a feeling if he didn’t, if he just gave up and succumbed, then memory by memory, he would be stripped bare, until all that remained was what the demon wanted him to know. The demon. The evil entity he had called up and shackled and forced to do his bidding. The one the little boy attempted to double-cross.

  I am Nicky! My name is Nicholas. I was born in the first dark ages. I became an immortal. I helped topple modern civilization. I have done many wondrous, and near impossible feats. I AM NICKY!

  The pain stopped abruptly. “Ignorant, evolution monkey!” the demon growled in his own language, which somehow the little boy understood. “You have no name but the one I give you.”

  The kid grasped tighter to the tendril which represented his life, reaching out his other hand for another dangling thread. It wrapped around his hand and wrist with the same sensation as the first. He felt a wrenching on his feet, the demon he had called DiJinn trying to loosen his hold on his broken lifeline.

  I accept the pain. I accept what I have done and will do. I accept everything! Nicky used the last of his strength to pull himself closer to the dangling ends and his body.

  He could feel himself stretching thin and thrashed in a last attempt to dislodge the demon as he plunged his face into the silver thread.

  DiJinn’s howling voice became a physical sensation, pressing and squashing his being in an effort to pound him into the individual bits which made him Nicky. The silver ends wrapped tight around his head, searing and lashing him. Memories became a storm cloud of lightning and thunder inside his head, each one an electric jolt searing his brain.

  I AM NICKY! YOU WILL NOT CHAIN ME! I AM FREE!

  The little boy let the pain overtake him, let it cause him to scream and thrash about, invading every part. He lunged once more, as images of a moonlit grove flashed by, hooking onto its memory strand.

  “Nooooooooooo!”

  Talons tried to grab his head and rip apart the lifeline which was now the only thing holding both pieces of him together.

  Nicky kept wiggling forward, deeper into his thread, letting long strips of his numerous lives go, the sacrifice needed. He lost sight and feeling; he had won. The boy couldn’t say how he knew, only that he was floating in warm darkness. A new pain took the place of the old. He could tell the difference immediately. The other had infused every molecule; this one was of the body. He had a body! He needed air!

  The kid’s reflexes took over, his lungs expanded, drawing oxygen in. His nose and nasal passages exploded at the sharp, icy bite, nearly causing him to stop breathing again. He fought past the sensation, taking another big inhalation and exhaling noisily. Nicky cracked his eyelids, what illumination was left in the wan light causing him to blink at the stabbing sensation. When his vision adjusted, he tried to wiggle fingers and toes.

  His extremities burned at the movement, protesting, stiff and slow. It took a while before Nicky realized he had landed in the grove, his grove. The one he had used to slaughter people so his demon would have food. How much time had passed? Trees which had once been burnt lay moldering on the ground under a covering of snow. New growth, dormant, poked up from the remains.

  “Ha! Bastard! No one defeats Nicky!” His voice was a thin, reedy strain, throat feeling raw from all the screaming he had done. He gulped more air in, his limbs tingling as he forced them to move. How long had he been dead? Trapped between worlds and planes?

  “Damn it!” Nicky spoke ritual words meant to provide illumination and heat, which no one else would be able to understand if they overheard him. He didn’t feel his power, his magic, responding. He tried again. Nothing.

  “No, no, no, no, NO! My magic! I didn’t sacrifice my magic! Not that! Never would I sacrifice that!” He howled, tears leaking down his cheeks. “You bastard demon! I’ll get you for this!”

  After a few useless minutes of cursing, crying, and trying every bit of magic he knew to no avail, did the boy realize it was completely gone. The one other thing he had feared happening, had.

  “I will get it back,” Nicky muttered determinedly. Now—now he had to get up before he froze. He set himself grimly to the task. It took longer than he liked, his body feeling heavy and dead, but he managed to turn enough on the rock altar, and let gravity take over.

  The face-plant into the remaining drifts of snow were unpleasant and painful, further chilling his naked body. His muscles shook from the strain he placed upon them. His head ached and throbbed, and more than once he vomited up bile before he stood upright. The boy leaned, panting from effort, on the icy stone. It seemed he would be learning how to move all over again. He tried to think of how to walk, and in fits and starts managed to get turned around. Nicky let his eyes rove around; where was the path? Denuded branches from trees, bushes, and vines which had grown in the passing of time obscured all marks.

  Nicky closed his eyes, visualizing how the grove looked before his sojourn in the Afterlife. When he thought he had the image firmly at the forefront of his thoughts, the boy opened his eyes. It disconcerted him, seeing what had been overlaid on what was like a ghost image. He was forced to slowly shuffle forward, using his cold hands and feet to push through the plant matter which had reclaimed the grove. His mind and body had lag between what he wanted to do, and when it responded. It took him longer than he expected to be able to accomplish any task.

  “I will get my magic back. I will kill the fat fuck on the throne. I will kill that insufferably good Mica. I will kill—no, I will punish then kill—that damn duchess. I will make the town beg for my mercy.”

  Nicky kept himself moving with plans by talking, stumbling and pushing through the overgrown path toward his hunting lodge. His body finally finished with rebooting itself, the lag gone. The boy didn’t even realize he had reached the lodge until he tripped over the edge of the stone terrace and fell.

  “What the hell?” Nicky forced himself to hands and knees, craning his head back. His vision blurred from new tears. The vine-covered trellis had rotted and lay in a snowy heap on top
of the terrace. Gaping holes spoke of where wood-shuttered glass windows had once been.

  The boy gritted his teeth angrily, trying to hold back his sobs. His numb fingers clutched at the wall, dislodging crumbling mortar. Even though his feet were cold, and starting to burn, he forced himself to walk toward the opening which had once housed the courtyard gate. The stables had long since been torn down and carted off for their wood.

  A litany of curses spewed forth as he cautiously stepped through the doorway to the slave’s hall; even the door itself had been taken. Nicky eased down the hall, trying not to stumble on the debris-strewn stone floor. When he got to the entrance, the boy stumbled to a halt. The decorative marble, tile, and colored stone had been pried up and carted away, leaving gaping holes. A good portion of the marble stairs was missing as well. A hole overhead let weak rays of sun in. Rage replaced the cold. Nicky was forced to backtrack. Each once-elegant room bore testament to the scavengers. The walls and ceiling showed bare plaster, much of it having fallen from the walls and ceiling to show the building’s structure. He climbed up the servants’ stairs, testing each one of the wooden treads before putting his full weight on them.

  The upstairs showed the same signs of the decimated ground floor. His once-ornate room had been stripped. Only the large, heavily carved bed and wardrobe remained. Both were coated in animal droppings.

  He remembered the spells he had overlaid over the lodge and his secret workspace, meant to slowly kill intruders, whether they explored or left after a few seconds, or even minutes.

  “After all, technically I did die, so it would all . . .” He trailed off as realization overcame him.