Anhalt smiled and kicked his horse into a gallop.
Senator Clark whooped and surged forward, sword held aloft in classic position. The riders charged over the green field. Anhalt leaned in, saber poised. The thudding of the hooves vibrated his body. His focus narrowed. He felt the flanks of his mount with his knees. He felt the worn sword pommel in his hand. He saw the charging shape and glinting sword above it. The two horses drew closer, throwing a barrage of divots behind. Clark was ramrod straight in the saddle. Anhalt subtly slowed his horse, knowing that the senator's arm was a spring ready to fire. When the mounts were nose by nose, the American let fly. Anhalt fell back against Jambiya's rump and the saber flashed over him. He sprang up and swung back toward his opponent who, amazingly, had already turned at the waist to parry the blow.
Jambiya responded to pressure and began to wheel while Clark's stallion still thundered on. Anhalt made a tight half-circle, trying to come over onto the enemy's left, but Clark was already drifting to cut him off and pulling up hard on his reins, driving his horse into a skidding stop. The American yanked left, nearly pulling his horse over, and brought his sword to bear on a surprised Anhalt. He swung once, barely parried by the Equatorian, and then actually slammed the powerful hindquarters of his stallion into Jambiya's shoulder. The smaller horse stumbled, but the Gurkha rode it out, coaxing him up.
Clark laughed and barked, “Finesse is no good here!”
Anhalt blocked a wild blow toward his neck, alarmed that the senator was more skilled than he expected. They fenced with the two horses slamming side by side, spinning in a circle. Clark reared back to avoid a swipe, but delivered a glancing blow to Anhalt's right arm. The general felt pins and needles down to his fingertips, and the American capitalized with another blade smash, sending Anhalt's saber from his numb grasp.
Clark howled with laughter. “Too easy, Sirdar!”
“I'm still mounted. I do not yield.” Anhalt kicked the gelding into a run for the far goal.
He heard Clark's monstrous mount take up the chase. A risked glance over his hunched shoulder showed the senator grinning, hat trailing in the wind, his saber eager for another blow on the disarmed enemy. He almost felt Clark's breath. He could sense the sword about to fall.
Anhalt locked his knees against Jambiya's shoulders, and the little mount stiffened his forelegs into a skid. The Gurkha ducked as a giant mass roared past, sword whistling through the air. Jambiya spun and took up the gallop again without argument.
The gelding roared along the torn-up grass. Anhalt slipped his left foot from the stirrup and took a handful of Jambiya's mane. He dropped his other foot free and slid down the right side of the horse's chest with one leg curled under the belly and the left calf on the saddle. Jambiya's churning legs pounded so close. The ground roared past, only inches away. A stumble by the gelding would send Anhalt crashing headfirst to the hard field with little chance he wouldn't break a shoulder at least, or neck at most. Without fear, he reached forward with his right hand, feeling the tips of the grass skimming along.
Something hard hit his fingers. He clasped. And he rose up, fighting to regain the saddle with only one arm for leverage. Jambiya leaned from the pressure and missed a step. Anhalt tightened his left boot against some flange on the saddle, and a hard thump nearly threw him.
He managed to twist his right foot and gain a toehold in the stirrup. Push up. He came straight in the saddle, seeking the left stirrup, just as he caught a glimpse of a blue shape alongside.
Anhalt raised his recovered saber and parried a thunderous blow before pulling Jambiya to a halt. Clark reined in and turned to meet him. They fenced again. The senator was in a rage. His moves were wilder, but fueled by enormous muscle. Anhalt's arm was still rubbery.
The general drove Jambiya hard against Clark's mount. Then he kicked back deep inside the gelding's flank. Jambiya snorted angrily and lashed out at the nearest victim—the hindquarters of Clark's stallion. The gelding sank his teeth deep into the white horse's flesh.
The startled stallion shrieked and reared. Clark yelled too, trying to keep his balance. Anhalt drew his boot up and slammed it into the senator's brass-buttoned chest. The American's face went through his typical range of emotions in an instant from disbelief to anger to fury and back to disbelief. And then the mighty Senator Clark tumbled from the saddle, crashing to the ground. Hat and saber sailed through the air, and the white stallion galloped away from his downed rider.
Anhalt wheeled Jambiya and pointed his sword down at the American. Clark glared up in pain and embarrassment. His breath tore from between his clenched teeth.
But then Clark started laughing. He pounded his hands against the ground and lay back, guffawing. Anhalt watched suspiciously, half expecting the man to pull a pocket pistol or leap up with a knife. Clark looked at the sirdar and fell into another paroxysm of breathless laughter. The senator climbed to his feet, dusted himself off, and retrieved his hat. He regarded the Gurkha with a posture Anhalt had never seen from the American, one of a comfortable friendliness.
Clark adjusted his hat. “You're a damned fine horseman, Sirdar. You picked that mount on purpose, didn't you?”
“I did.”
“He's damn nimble.”
“And a biter.” Anhalt swung from the saddle with a nod of respect to the American's skills. He took Jambiya's reins, and he and Clark started back. The senator threw an arm over the sirdar's shoulder, causing Anhalt to flinch. Clark laughed again, shaking the Gurkha. By the time they passed the celebrating Equatorians and disgruntled Americans on the sidelines, the sirdar was almost convinced the senator was not going to try to strangle him.
Senator Clark asked over the top of a glass of beer, “So you're telling me that Adele really is in Persia?”
Anhalt stared him straight in the eye. “As she says.”
“Well, damn it.” Clark stretched out his long legs, nearly tripping a passing waiter. The Polo Club's private dining room swarmed with servants and well-heeled guests, all of whom whispered and stared surreptitiously at the table shared by the sirdar and the empress's jilted fiancé.
The senator snatched a lobster tail and began to crush the meat out of it. “Who the hell's in charge around here? I haven't seen Lord Aden at all. Nobody seems to know where he is. That little snob used to scurry around like he ran the whole show.”
“We do have an entire government that is capable of functioning in Her Majesty's absence.”
“Really? I'd have thought she would've gutted anybody with any manhood.” Clark immediately rolled an apologetic hand at Anhalt. “Sorry. I didn't mean to speak ill of her, in front of you. I still have a few grudges of my own.”
The sirdar didn't excuse him, but understood. Adele had humiliated Clark, not only in casting him aside, for good reason, but quite literally running from the wedding on Greyfriar's arm. Such an event would have turned any man bitter, particularly a man used to having his own way in all things.
The senator signaled for two more beers. “Simon's death must've been hard on Adele. She worshipped that boy.”
“Yes. It was a terrible blow.”
“And it was that Gareth character who did it?”
“Yes. Greyfriar is in pursuit of the Scottish prince.”
Clark glowered at the mention of the swordsman, but then looked regretful. “Same vampire who had her when I found her in Edinburgh. Used her as a shield. If only I'd killed the thing then.”
Anhalt nodded and remained silent to drive home the fact that even the great Clark failed occasionally. Then he asked, “If you don't mind, Senator, may I ask why you are in Alexandria now? Surely you didn't fly the Atlantic just to express your condolences over Prince Simon.”
Clark guffawed and leaned forward. “True enough. All right, back to politics. My reason for the visit is to see Adele and try to get the American-Equatorian coalition back on track.”
“By coalition, do you mean alliance? Or marriage?”
“Both. Sirdar, y
our operations in Europe are stalled. I fully appreciate the differences you face in population and climate, and I know you're hamstrung by political considerations. So I'm not trying to be critical, but it's a fact.”
Anhalt remained calm. It was a fact.
Clark continued with a remarkably reasonable tone, “And now Prince Simon is gone. There's no backup for the throne. And if anything should happen to Adele—” The sirdar began to interrupt, but Clark said, “Please, hear me out and try to see the situation with fresh eyes. Look at the number of times that girl has been close to death. And she's barely twenty years old. She's unpredictable. She's likely to take off on a lark, putting herself in danger. In that way, she's a terrible monarch. Of course, in other ways, she's magnificent. Even I can see that. But there's a question which side of her will prevail.”
This was a new demeanor, Anhalt mused silently, but the same old tactic. “What do you hope to bring to the situation?”
“Stability. And the chance of an heir.”
Anhalt cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Keep your voice down, if you please.”
Clark smiled, but nodded. “Sure. She needs a child, a son if possible. There is no clear-cut successor. If something happens to her, this Empire would shake itself apart.”
“Her Majesty has made her choice of companion rather apparent.”
“Oh yes. I was there when she did it.” The senator crunched through another lobster tail. “I'm not talking about love or any of that foolishness. I'm not interested in anything beyond a political arrangement. Marriage. Alliance. And a future for your Empire. It doesn't do me any good if I clear all the vampires out of North America, but they're still infesting Europe.”
General Anhalt finished off his beer. “Step onto the terrace with me, if you would.”
Clark tiredly held out his hands. “If I've insulted you or the princess somehow, I'd rather apologize than fight a duel.”
Anhalt shook his head. “Strictly business, Senator. But it requires privacy.”
The two men rose and crossed between tables through the lush dining room with many eyes on them. Major Naroyan opened the French windows to the terrace and closed them again after the duo, placing himself firmly against the door.
On the broad, tiled terrace, a soft evening breeze and long shadows were taming the heat of the day. The two men leaned against the stone balustrade, and Senator Clark pulled two cigars from his inner pocket. With quick work, he snipped off the ends and handed one to Anhalt. He flicked a wooden match with his thumbnail and lit both. The sirdar blew smoke into the air and regarded the cigar appreciatively.
“Cuban,” Clark said. “I'll send you a case.”
“Thank you.” Anhalt placed his helmet on his head, felt something odd, and removed it. He reached in and pulled out a one hundred pound note. He shrugged, pocketing the cash. “I have something of utmost importance and secrecy to tell you. The Greyfriar has given us detailed information about vampire society and strategy, and recently he has informed us of the death of King Dmitri of Britain.”
“Old Dmitri, dead?” Senator Clark looked up with interest from his glower at the mention of Greyfriar's name. “That is interesting. Any chance of a succession struggle that will throw the clan off its game?”
“Of a sort. According to Greyfriar, the clan will go into a meeting he calls a coven to select the next king. He assures us that the preferred candidate is Cesare.”
Clark spat. “The animal that slaughtered all of Ireland.”
“Exactly, and the primary author of the vampire alliance whom we are both fighting. But there is something more.” Anhalt proceeded to lay out what he knew of vampire succession ritual as well as the fact that all the British clan lords and visiting royalty would be isolated inside Buckingham Palace until a king was chosen, usually by tradition, a process taking several days.
The American asked sharply, “How could he possibly know this? What is he, a vampire?”
Anhalt adjusted his helmet and coughed. “If Greyfriar says it's so, it's so.”
Clark stared eagerly at the sirdar. “Well, all right then. The question is, what do you intend to do with this information?”
“I'm glad you asked, Senator.” Anhalt stared at the glowing tip of his cigar. “If I can make use of your steamnaught, I say we fly to London on the equinox and firebomb Buckingham Palace into a crater.”
Senator Clark stared curiously at the general. Then his mouth split into a wide white grin. “To be honest, Mehmet, I never thought much of you before. But damn it, you're growing on me.”
“Thank you, Senator. We'll need to be under way very soon. We have a tight schedule.”
ADELE HELD FAST to Edinburgh's rail as the ship descended with terrifying swiftness to her namesake below.
We're not crashing, she repeated to herself. Hariri was thoroughly enjoying flexing his remarkable mariner skills, which ought to have calmed her, but didn't. He barked orders, his robe flapping wildly in the winds. Her own heavy coat thumped hard against her calves, but she was trying to keep her stomach in place and the scream in her throat.
If Greyfriar were here, he'd be laughing and enjoying the wild ride. The thought of seeing him again banished some of Adele's fear, and she clung to that thought as the clouds parted and the ground could be seen rushing toward them.
Hariri shouted something that was whipped away by the wind, but the men around him heard and the ship's plummet slowed markedly. Timbers creaked and sails billowed, and soon they were skimming the treetops. Scattered leaves found their way onto the deck, and the air smelled faintly of heather.
As the clouds thinned, Adele saw the grey city of Edinburgh with its winding Old Town and gridlike northern suburbs. And above it all, the sprawling castle perched on its volcanic peak. Adele was overwhelmed by memories of cold rain and warm fires. She recalled the effort Gareth expended to make her welcome here despite her best efforts to remain bitter and infuriated. It was in those days she had begun to see the man she now loved with the amazing revelation of his secret library and watching his struggle to write. She remembered the plain simplicity of the wonderful friendship of Morgana, a servant in the castle, who didn't know or care if Adele was an empress or a scrubwoman. And, of course, it was here she had first encountered Pet. The biting wet wind splashed her face and made her happy.
The ship slowed its descent, and airmen took in sail as the vessel spiraled down to the castle. Lookouts maintained a watch in case vampires should appear, despite Adele's assurances that there were only two here. When the brig drifted across the edge of the battlements, heavy mooring anchors went over the side and scraped into the stone. The ship lurched to a halt. Men vaulted the rails to fix grapples so crew at the capstans could winch the wooden hull down to touch the castle's edge.
The gangway slammed down and the Harmattan rushed ashore, clutching their rifles, eyes wary under their helmets. Adele followed leisurely, carrying her bag and her cat. She stopped at the battlements to look over the city. Plumes of lovely wood smoke curled into the air. She could see people stopped in the street, staring up at the airship moored to the castle. Crowds were beginning to grow all around the base of Castle Hill with every second.
Captain Shirazi stood at her shoulder. “Look at that mob forming all around us. We'll need to disperse them before they can cause trouble.”
She laid a hand on his arm and shook her head. “Easy, Captain. There is no threat from them. The people here are harmless, I assure you.”
“They could be Undead,” was his reply.
He was right, of course, she realized with a shock. Cesare could have infiltrated Gareth's home with his cultists. However, they would be aimed at Gareth. They would have no contingency for the arrival of this strange group of humans, and it would take too long for anyone to make it back to London for new orders. As brilliant as Cesare could be, he would never assume Adele would come back to Scotland. And the fear of Undead couldn't distract her from her primary mission: saving Gareth.
He still had not appeared despite the arrival of the airship and soldiers. Adele grew more anxious that she was too late, suddenly envisioning Gareth lying dead on the floor by Nzingu's knife. Pressing through the shoulders of the men ahead of her, she rushed into a courtyard of grey stone buildings, aiming for one in particular. Adele shoved open a heavy door, and the entrance yawned into darkness.
“Is anyone home?” she shouted.
“Adele?” A solitary figure appeared at the distant end of the hall. His kilt flapped in the harsh wind that had followed the open door. He bobbed his head in confusion. “So that is your airship. I thought we were under attack.”
“Baudoin,” she exhaled in relief. “It's a pleasure to see you again.” She hoped her men mistook her familiar greeting as diplomacy rather than the truth. His presence made everything seem normal. She had to fight the impulse to hug him. “These men are mine. They mean you no harm.”
The castle's chamberlain didn't reciprocate her greeting. She was sure the last thing he expected or wanted was her arrival.
“Is this the frail aged retainer you mentioned?” Shirazi sneered.
Baudoin moved slowly forward and spared the captain not even a glance, keeping his attention on Adele.
“Is your lord in residence?” she asked.
“He is not.”
She took a deep, anxious breath.
“Is there some danger?” Baudoin's glare settled on the soldiers around her.
Adele gave a subtle nod and bit her lip. “I have come to offer a proposition to Prince Gareth. I assume we are welcome to wait.” She tried to remain a politician but still convey to Baudoin that they needed to talk privately.
The servant remained stoic. He merely turned on his heel and proceeded back down the dark passageway toward the main hall. There soon came a familiar rustling amongst the shadows, and the Harmattan stiffened in alarm.
Kingmakers, The (Vampire Empire Book 3) Page 32