There was no malice in what I said to him. No vindictiveness. I spoke only the truth as I saw the truth to be.
An instant later, he was gone.
I realized I was staring directly at the sun, which had just peeked over the horizon. Cold blood tears were trickling down my cheeks. I wiped them away, then looked back over my shoulder. “Assign a day watch,” I said to Drago. “Let us get some rest. Tonight, we make war on the God King.”
14
On a clear day, Fen’Dagher could be seen from about a hundred kilometers away. At night, it was just a conical black shape, occluding the stars and moonlit clouds behind it. Were it not for the torches of its lower habitations, which illuminated its belly with a stove-like ruddy glow, it would have appeared as a void on the horizon, an absence of matter rather than a mountain.
Apt, I thought, that vermillion glow. From a distance, it looked as if the entire bottom half of the mountain had been dipped in mortal blood. And in fact, it was. Even from so far away, I could smell the blood soaked into the earth and stone of the dormant volcano. I could smell its putrescence. The decay of mortal flesh. The rot of hope and joy.
“It is a terrible thing,” I said to Zenzele, as we stood there looking on the mountain. I could not help but shudder. “When the God King has fallen, we will sweep it all away. We will carve it from the world like the diseased flesh of a festering wound. Every stone. Every timber. Even the memory of this place. We must erase it from the minds of men forever.”
“A cleansing,” Zenzele said, nodding in agreement. “Yes, my love, it shall be done.”
We marched on.
15
The God King watched us constantly now, his invisible Eye hovering in the sky like a second ghostly moon. We could all feel his gaze upon us, cold and calculating. He was looking, I knew, for a weakness to exploit, for any flaw or limitation that might give him an advantage.
Let him watch, I thought with grim satisfaction. All he will see is his end drawing nearer.
Perhaps now he would know the special agony that he had inflicted on so many others over the course of his impossibly long life. Perhaps now he would know what it was to count the footsteps of his own approaching doom, to hoard the final moments of his existence, paying each one reluctantly, excruciatingly, out. Perhaps he would finally understand that time-- that most intangible of things-- is the only currency of real value in this universe.
And how tightly one holds onto that last precious coin!
16
We encountered more of the crucified Tanti as we closed on Uroboros, a veritable grove of them, brutally killed and hastily erected, but we were too near the God King’s realm now to stop and take them down.
“We cannot allow ourselves to be diverted,” I said to Aioa. “Not now, so close to the enemy. When we are victorious, when the God King has fallen, we will see that they are properly buried. I promise.”
“Yes, grandfather,” she said.
She did not look up as we passed the leaning timbers. But I did. I memorized the face of each twisted and agonized figure.
We marched on, through that silent, awful wood.
17
At last, we came within sight of the city. Uroboros. The God King’s seat of power.
I have to admit, I was a little underwhelmed by the forces our foe had marshaled against us. In number, the army of the Uroborans was roughly the equal of our own, and we had nearly double the Eternals. A thousand versus a thousand. Perhaps it does not sound like much to you modern folk, who would consider five or six or ten thousand souls the average population of a small village, but it seemed incredible to me. Imagine it! Two thousand blood drinkers. Nearly twenty Eternals. I doubt the world had ever seen such a gathering of immortals before. Not in one place. And I wager it never will again.
“He is ready for us,” Zenzele said, staring down on that vast array of soldiers.
There was no fear in her eyes, though they flicked restively to and fro, sizing up the God King’s army, inspecting his defenses, probing for weakness, searching for traps. Of all the vampires I have known, only Zenzele could match the God King’s cold and pitiless cunning. When aroused, she could be a terrifying adversary—vicious, vindictive and absolutely ruthless.
I saw that coldness come over her now, saw her eyes narrow and take on that flat, emotionless luster, like the eyes of a doll. The gentle curves of her face went hard and still. Her lips curled back ever so subtly from her fangs. In truth, I felt a little sorry for our foes.
“We are ready, too,” I said.
We had come out from some woods and stood now on a rocky ridge. A no man’s land of yellow grass and hardpan stretched away from us in the valley down below. From our elevated vantage, I could see within the walls of the God King’s capitol. The city seemed at peace, which was somewhat disheartening. I had hoped that Rayna or Irema would be stirring up some trouble by now, but the city looked as it always had, low and dark, a maze of rundown tenements and narrow, mucky streets.
“Rayna has not arrived,” I said.
“Or she came and was defeated,” Zenzele replied.
I turned to Aioa and inquired of her sister.
Aioa frowned in concentration for a moment, then shook her head. She had not made contact with her sister since the slaughter of the Tanti.
“Is she dead?” I asked.
I dreaded the answer I might receive, but Aioa shook her head decisively. “I can still feel her,” she said. “She is close. But I cannot hear her thoughts.”
“Keep trying to contact her,” I said. “If the slaves rise up as we launch our assault, Khronos would have two enemies to contend with. His forces would be divided.”
“And when do we attack?” Drago asked. His entire body was trembling with eagerness.
“Soon, my friend,” I said. “Let us close the distance a little more-- but carefully! This all seems just a bit too easy. If Khronos has laid some trap for us, let us not indulge him by rushing blindly into it.”
I signaled to the troops and eased down the embankment. I moved cautiously forward, using my powerful senses to scan the terrain ahead. I was looking for traps, camouflaged pits or enemies in hiding.
Nothing.
We closed on the city, keeping near to the ground. The God King’s soldiers waited in orderly ranks, unmoving, silent and watchful. They were all dressed in black, our enemies. Black armor. Black face paint. Were it not for their torches, they would have been nearly invisible in the darkness, even for our enhanced vision. All we could see of them were their eyes, which reflected the orange light of their torches, a field of winking embers. They looked like an army of damned souls.
“Easy,” I said. “Easy…”
“Why do they not attack?” Drago hissed.
“They wait for us to make the first move,” Zenzele said. “They are hoping we attack in haste, make ourselves vulnerable.”
“I feel like we’re walking into a trap,” I said. And it was true. The hair on my arms was standing straight up. “Where is Khronos?”
“There!” Aioa said.
I looked where she was pointing. There, in the middle of the walkway on the eastern wall of the city, Khronos gazed across the battlefield. Unlike his soldiers, he had not painted his flesh black, and his white face shone out like a beacon. I saw him, and I felt hatred rise up in my guts like a sizzling acid. A hundred terrible memories flashed through my mind. It was all I could do to keep myself from leaping wildly at him.
“No,” Zenzele said, a hand on my shoulder. “Not yet.”
I ground my teeth together and nodded.
When we were about halfway across the open plain, the God King leaned forward and made some indistinct gesture to the men down below. His troops shifted around quietly, and faint mortal sounds arose from their midst: curses, cries of pain and fear, sobbing. A moment later, several Tanti hostages were pushed to the front of the enemy line. Each was accompanied by a pair of Uroboran guards. As I watched, frozen in shock an
d outrage, the Tanti hostages were forced to their knees. Their escorts placed blades to their throats and then stood there waiting.
“These are the last of your mortal bloodline, heretic!” the God King cried out. His voice carried in the unnatural silence. Though we were still a small distance away, I could hear him perfectly clear. “Oh, there may be a few more out there in the wild,” he went on, making a dismissive gesture, “but we will find them. We will hunt them down and kill them all. Unless--!”
He waited until I answered back.
“Unless what?” I shouted.
“Kneel to me,” Khronos replied. “My offer still stands, wild blood god. We do not need to fight. You have proved that mortal and immortal can live together in peace. I will free my slaves. I will remake Uroboros after your shining new city, your glorious Asharoth. We can be allies, brothers. We can live together in harmony. Only kneel before me, Gon of the River People. Swear your allegiance to me. I can be a good king. You can help me.”
The Arth was brilliantly lit by torches, and there were red banners flapping from the terraces, as if it were a festival day. A thousand mortals lined the balustrades of the middle city, watching, waiting for what came next. Would it be war or peace? Do I set them free, or do I seal their doom?
My Tanti children struggled with their captors. They cried out for me to save them, to unleash my wrath on our foes, to avenge them. If I did not submit to the God King, I would be condemning them to die. All the rest had been slaughtered or crucified. I had saved six. Here were six more. The last mortal descendants of the People of the River.
Was I making a mistake? What if the God King was speaking from his heart? What if he truly desired peace? What if he was right and we could all learn to live together, not just mortal and immortal, but all the people of Uroboros and Asharoth? Could we really become allies? All I had to do was kneel. Set aside my pride. Set aside my thirst for vengeance. Embrace hope instead of suspicion, love instead of hate.
Just kneel.
I turned to Zenzele and the question passed silently between us. Was it possible? Could there be peace between our peoples? Could Khronos change? Could we help him to be good?
I saw confusion on her face, doubt.
I felt my anger cooling, my resolve weakening.
And then…
NO!
“There is one among them who can influence our thoughts,” I snarled. I looked to Aioa. “Which one is the mind-witch? Where is he? Find him, granddaughter!”
Aioa stepped forward and closed her eyes. She tilted her head as if listening for a distant sound, then pointed to one of the soldiers near the front of the line, a tall thin immortal. “That one,” she said.
I turned to Usus.
“Kill him.”
Usus nocked an arrow and fired. His response was instantaneous. A second later, the tall immortal Aioa had pointed out dropped to his knees and fell forward onto his face.
Immediately, all my doubts evaporated. There could be no peace with Khronos. The idea was preposterous!
Zenzele looked startled, and then shot the God King a venomous glare. “Trickery!” she hissed.
“Always with you it is lies!” I shouted to Khronos. “Only a fool would take you at your word!”
“So be it,” Khronos sneered.
18
I watched as the God King’s soldiers cut the throats of my last mortal descendants.
I was close enough that I could have rushed forward, saved one or two of them perhaps. Very few immortals can match my speed or strength. And I was tempted to try. Oh, how sorely I was tempted! All that stayed my hand was the very real possibility that I might fall into my enemy’s hands. And if the God King took me captive, if his soldiers brought me down, everything we had fought for, all the sacrifices we had made, would be for naught. I could not allow that to happen. I had to stay back.
For the good of the whole.
So I watched the Tanti die. I watched the knives slide across their necks. Watched as they fell to their knees, clutching at the spurting wounds. Watched them fall, twitching, to the ground like slaughtered lambs. I could smell their blood as it spilled onto the earth. I could feel their pain, their fear, as the final darkness enveloped their souls.
Trembling in rage, I screamed: “Attack!”
The army at my back roared in solidarity. They took to the air, leaping in their vast numbers toward our Uroboran foes. Others raced past me, rushing toward our enemy on foot. The sound of their passage was crashing thunder. My cold dead heart began to thump, a rapid drumbeat of rage and thirst for vengeance.
“Attack! Attack!” Zenzele shrieked, waving our troops forward. “Destroy them all!”
Drago shot past me like an arrow, an expression of savage joy on his face. At last, the time had come! At last, he would have his revenge! I heard him cry, “Hannan!” and then he launched himself into the air and I lost sight of him. Gone into the dark heavens. Gone into the stream of immortals soaring overhead.
Snarling, Vehnfear loped toward the city.
Laughing, Bhorg lumbered by, swinging his mighty hammer.
“Irema!” Aioa shouted. She looked at me with dawning wonder. “She’s done it! The slaves are rising up!”
All across the Shol, new-blooded immortals sprang up from their hiding places. After the slaughter of the Tanti, Irema and her Uroboran collaborators had gone down into the lower city. Moving stealthily through the squalid tenements and narrow, winding streets, they had circulated the Living Blood among the rebel slaves. While Khronos readied his defenses and moved his troops into position, the insurgents had passed through the agonizing transformation in their bolt holes and secret meeting places, then went out to spread the Blood among their fellow conspirators. By the time our army arrived, there were some two hundred vampire rebels hiding in the Shol, waiting for the signal to rise up against their masters.
That signal came when we launched our final assault.
Irema, who was watching from the shadows of the eastern gate, saw our forces take to the air. She ran through the lower city, shouting, “Rise up! Rise up! The time to fight has come!”
Her shout was taken up by the rebels.
“Rise up! Rise up!” as they wriggled from their hidey-holes.
“Rise up! Rise up!” as they scrambled from their huts.
Khronos heard her cry and wheeled around, surprise and consternation knuckling his brow. He caught a glimpse of a waifish blood drinker racing through the alleys of the slave district, a dark-haired woman-child he had never seen before. A moment later, he lost sight of her and could not seem to find her again, though he could still hear her shouting, “Rise up! Rise up!”
But he did see the new-blooded rebels.
They poured into the squalid alleys in alarming numbers, their faces white, their eyes flashing in defiance. He watched them fall upon the soldiers that were stationed in the city, watched them attack their former oppressors with terrible ferocity.
But the God King had a surprise for us as well.
“The slaves are rising up!” Aioa said, and I looked at Zenzele with a self-satisfied grin. Everything was going just as I’d planned. It seemed almost too good to be true.
“Fight with me,” Zenzele said. She spoke with the same heat she entreated me for sex.
“Khronos,” I agreed. “We take him together.”
She nodded, and together we leapt into the air, aiming ourselves at the wallwalk.
But even as we bound into the air, Khronos turned his back to the disturbance in the Shol. He gave out a great shout. I could not understand what it was he cried over the rush of the wind in my ears, but a moment later, all of his troops extinguished their torches. Instantly, the God King’s army—with their black armor and black painted faces—melted into the darkness. Immediately after that, a maelstrom of arrows came flying in our direction, whining like angry hornets.
The arrows were also painted black, and nearly impossible to see. I was struck three, four, five
times in half as many seconds, and saw dozens of my airborne warriors wounded in a similar manner. It all happened in an instant. The darkness. The storm of missiles. There was no time to react, no time to defend myself. One moment, I was sailing towards the God King, my woman at my side. The next moment I was flying blind and shot through like Saint Sebastian.
I landed badly on the east wall, bounced off the walkway and spilled over the side into the Shol. I landed face down in the muck and the impact drove several of the arrows straight through my body.
The pain was stultifying. It was a moment before I could shake it off and tend to my injuries. And then I thought: Zenzele! Where is she?
I rose to my knees and searched the ground for her, tugging at the arrows protruding from my body. The heads of the missiles were wickedly barbed and would not easily slide free. I had to rip my own flesh to get them out.
“Zenzele!” I shouted.
I saw her on the wallwalk then, grappling with the God King. One of his guards attacked her from behind, distracting her for a moment, and Khronos delivered a brutal kick to her midsection. Zenzele went flying from the wall and crashed through the roof of a nearby tenement.
“Zenzele!” I shouted, scrambling after her. I slipped in the mud and fell on my face again.
Khronos spotted me stumbling through the alley and held out his hand. One of his guards slapped a spear in his palm and he lobbed it at me. The missile whooshed through the air and impaled me through the back, driving me to my knees. “Ancestors!” I groaned, spitting up blood. I tried to rise but I was pinned to the ground. I tugged at the lance but it was stuck fast in the earth.
I fumbled at the spear, hands made clumsy by my injuries. My muddy palms slid ineffectually up and down its length. Biting back my panic, I tried to snap it in the middle, but the shaft was composed of some flexible wood and bent instead of breaking. The only way I was going to get free was to launch my body into the air and hope the spear slid out of me.
The Oldest Living Vampire Unleashed Page 18