by E. M. Knight
“Fine,” I grumble. Part of his explanation makes sense… a bit.
It doesn’t mean I like it.
I settle into a seat, cross my arms, and stare daggers at the backs of the other three vampires.
Raul rips the sack off Victoria’s head just before he takes her off the plane, leaving James with me.
Chapter Three
SMITHSON
I stand on my Queen’s right, shoulders back, chin held high, chest thrust out.
We’re gathered at the edge of The Haven for the arrival of her two sons. In my mind, I conduct a quick check of all the guards.
I’ve posted many around the area. The congregation surrounding the Queen is only a tenth of those under my command.
The rest are spread through the trees, hidden in strategic positions throughout the forest. All are waiting to strike on my command.
When the Queen of The Haven reached out to me and offered me the position of Captain Commander… I was flabbergasted. I could never expect such a boon.
She and I knew each other, many long centuries ago…
I lie flat on the rocky ground, edging my way forward inch by agonizing inch.
A violent fire rages around me. The smoke forms a dense black cloud that covers most of the sky. It hides the summer sun and is the only reason my team and I have any chance of success.
No one would be crazy enough to go into the blasting hell we’re approaching without the benefit of such cover.
I look over my shoulder and check on my men. This mission is of the highest priority. We are Knights of the Vorcellian Order. We’ve dedicated our lives to eliminating the stain of witchcraft and sorcery from the human race.
All of us have taken our vows, forsaking the basal pleasures of this life for the sake of a higher calling.
Our Order has been around since the start of the millennium. We’ve always operated in the shadows, undermining magic wherever it appears. Witches and sorcerers—they are our targets. They are our prey.
We cannot allow the dark, unnatural forces to spread throughout the world.
Now, my team and I stand on the verge of destroying one of the most powerful family of witches in existence:
The Soren Clan.
The past two decades have been a spectacular success. We’ve managed to burn, kill, or otherwise eliminate all the weaker families. Only five remain that we know of.
Of course, there is always the possibility that more exist. If they do, my Order will find them, uncover them, and watch them burn.
This has been my whole life’s purpose. I was born into the Order and quickly rose through the ranks. As a teen, I was made First Officer. Older men scoffed at my appointment, but I quickly proved their doubts wrong. And the ones who continued to snicker behind my back?
Well, those were the only who found their heads on pikes when I became Lord Commander a short five years later.
Eighteen other Knights are here with me. They are my most trusted men. When I caught wind of the ceremony the Soren witches were planning from an inside source, I knew this was the most opportune time to strike.
Of course, this mission carries a high risk of failure. All our missions do, but taking calculated risks is all part of the game.
Sometimes you have to go by nothing more than the feeling in your gut. And my gut told me to attack.
We continue scaling the rocky hill. Four days ago, we set the fires to trap the witches in the midst of their ceremony.
All supernatural creatures fear fire. It is the one element they cannot control, because it is the one element governed by God.
I mouth a brief prayer and make the symbol of the cross around my chest. My faith in the Lord is unwavering. It is what allows me to face such monstrosities of nature without fear.
But something went wrong.
The fires we set have not yet been put out. They haven’t lessened. If anything, in the past few days they’ve grown stronger.
Stopping the blaze should have been the Soren clan’s first priority. And yet they’ve allowed it to rage on and on…
We surveyed the land before striking the blaze. There wasn’t enough tinder there to fuel the fires for four long days.
That means something else is feeding the flames. Something, I suspect, that comes from the inside.
Something that comes from the witches themselves.
One of my men coughs. Damien. I shoot him a sharp look. The slightest sound could give us away when we’re this close. He knows better than to risk our position like that.
He gestures in apology, steels himself, and continues the climb. I tense, waiting for the slightest sound that might hint that we’ve been compromised.
None comes. I breathe a sigh of relief and continue on.
I see the crest before me. Once we reach that peak, we’ll have a perfect vantage of the little makeshift village the witches selected for their ceremony.
I tighten my grip on my sword. I haven’t been parted from the weapon since it was bestowed upon me when I turned ten. The emeralds in the hilt protect me from the worst of the witch’s magic.
But the real strength comes from the blade… and the arm that wields it.
Dozens of witches and their vile offspring have met their end on the razor-sharp edge of my sword. Every great weapon has a name, and I named mine Witchbane after my first kill.
We reach the top. I signal for my men to lie low. I brought them here, so I have to take the lead. I raise my head over the edge… and curse at what I see.
Eight little huts stand in a circle in the village below. They are untouched by the flames. A faint blue orb surrounds the entirety of the village like a protective shield.
Along the sides, the fire beats against that shield. But it does not penetrate. Somehow, the flames are repelled.
I sink back out of sight. My mind races. Have the witches found a spell against fire? I would have never—ever—fathomed such a thing possible.
“Smithson,” one of my men growls. “What is it? Tell us.”
I glance at my most loyal men. All of them knew a time would come when they would give their lives for the Order. I’d been hoping to delay the day as long as possible… but a premonition tells me that the day has finally arrived.
“See for yourselves,” I say, granting them permission.
One-by-one they crawl to the top and witness the same sight I did.
Once they all know what we’re up against, I stand, not bothering to hide anymore. “Who are we?” I demand.
“Knights of the Vorcellian Order!”
“And what is our mission?”
“To rid the world of all darkness!”
“Then with our Lord as my witness, that is what we will do here, today!” I turn to the village and point my sword straight at it. “Show them no mercy! Strike them down in their homes! Kill them while they’re abed, kill them all, because they are creatures of the night, and they have forsaken the light for darkness!”
A monstrous roar goes up among my men. I shift my sword into both hands, angle it in front of me, and scream, “CHARGE!”
We race down the uneven ground. Plumes of smoke rise from the fire around us. The heat is unbelievable. But we’re all human, and even if we don’t have the element of surprise on our side, we should be able to handle the threat of the fire better than the witches.
A quarter of the way there a dark shape streaks by my side. My attention is diverted for a second. When I look, it’s gone.
Suddenly one of my men crashes down. He gives a blood-curdling scream. A second dark shape flashes, just on the other side of my vision. Damien cries and falls, and when I look I see him pinned to the ground by…
By something not entirely human.
Then, from out of the midst of the fires, come a swarm of black shapes. They move too fast for me to register anything more than the most indistinctive blurs.
They’re attacking us. I stop and face the enemy, but wherever I look all I catch is a flash of shadow
. It’s like fighting ghosts.
The pained screams of my men rain through the air. The dark shapes keep swarming around us, darting in and out so much faster than any witch or human has any right to move.
One by one my small army goes down around me. Blood stains the necks and the breastplates of my men. I spin in a rage, slashing Witchbane through the air.
It finds nothing but empty space.
The black streaks continue darting around me. For a second one of them stops. Our eyes meet.
It’s a woman.
My breath catches. Her eyes are tinged with red.
I’ve seen many things in my life serving the order. But a monster such as this, I’ve only read about.
Suddenly, she lunges forward. Her arms extend and I see claws at the tips of her fingers.
Claws stained crimson with the blood of my men.
A rage takes me such as I’ve never felt before. The creature is fast, but somehow, I manage to get my sword up in time. It slashes up between our bodies. I feel the briefest flash of satisfaction as the monster’s body is impaled on the blade.
But the creature looks at me… and simply smiles. Her face is a mask of illustrious, maniacal glee.
She grips the sword running through her with both hands and steps into it, pushing it farther through her body.
All my training, all my experience, all that I know fails me then. I’m stupefied. As the woman moves closer to me, my blade stuck in her side, I cannot break eye contact. Some distant part of my mind is screaming at me that this cannot be real, that this must be an illusion cast by the witches to confuse and befuddle me—
But I know that cannot be true, for I’ve drunk the elixir of Mirthnettle that immunizes me from spells that affect the sensory faculties of the mind.
The creature speaks.
“Do I frighten you, Lord Commander?” She knows who I am. “Do I repulse you, as you see me now? Am I not an affront to your God?”
Her face is inches away from mine and coming closer. I can smell her stench—the stench of a battlefield, of putrid blood, of death.
I try to jerk my blade free. But this woman, this being, this… thing… is so much stronger than I am. It’s unfathomable. She should have dropped dead as soon as my blade pierced her flesh. Instead, she’s standing here, mocking me, and defying everything I’ve ever known.
Her hands close over mine on the hilt of the sword. Even through my gauntlets I can feel that hers are ice cold. They steal the heat from my body, sucking it from me like a bat draining blood—
Realization hits. Blood. Blood! Blood on her mouth, blood over her lips, blood all over her body…
She hasn’t just killed my men. She fed on them.
My grip on Witchbane wavers. It hasn’t once left my side since I inherited it over thirty years ago. But now I’m on the verge of letting go, if only to get away from this creature—
Where would I go? My eyes flash past her. There are others of her kind all around. They’re staring, at me, momentarily distracted from their feast on my dead men.
The most horrible dread crashed into me. My men—all dead. All skewered as if they were no more than children. All ripped apart, devoured, by these despicable creatures.
“What are you?” I whisper.
“Not what,” the woman rasps. “But who.”
She brings her bloodied lips to my ear. “I am the witch you have come to destroy. I am Morgan Soren. But my powers have grown beyond your imagining. No longer will you pitiful humans be a threat to my kind. For now…” she touched a spot on my neck, making me recoil in disgust, “…it will do me great pleasure to show you what it’s like to be as I am.”
Her head whips forward and she sinks her fangs into my neck.
All the world goes dark.
***
I wake up with my hands bound to the sides of my body. My head is heavy. Thinking is… difficult.
How am I still alive?
The last thing I remember is that blasted creature lunging for my neck. I was sure I was dead, just like the rest of my men.
But now…
What twist of fate has kept me alive?
I fight through the grogginess and do a check of my body.
It’s hard to tell at first, but I don’t think anything is broken. Considering the despicable way I saw the mass of creatures rip my men apart, it astounds me that I’m still in serviceable shape.
Eighteen dead. One alive. Why me?
It has to be because I’m the Lord Commander. But whatever advantage these witches think keeping me alive will bring them, they are sorely wrong.
There’s a stiffness in my neck. That seems to be the only injury I’ve sustained.
I look around the room. Where am I?
Everything is dark. It’s also cold. We’re obviously far from the middle of the inferno.
I push against my bonds, testing them for a weakness. But I’m tied tight. The only way I’ll be let out is if they decide to release me.
I snort in disbelief at my own thoughts. Release me? They’ve probably only kept me alive to torture me and get information out of me about The Vorcellian Order.
I’ll never give them that. There is a sacredness to who we are and what we do that will ensure I will never give our secrets away.
“Kill me, then, witches,” I hiss. “Because I will never give up who I am.”
A voice in the darkness shocks me by answering. “Unfortunately, Lord Commander, you already have.”
From behind me walks the same creature who I thought had ended my life.
Immediately, I tense. How had I not sensed her presence?
It’s because of the heaviness, I tell myself. It’s dulling my senses.
But deep down, I know that isn’t true. I didn’t hear her… because she wasn’t breathing.
“What are you?” I whisper as she steps around me. “Where are we? What do you want?”
“I want to make you understand what it is to feel fear,” she answers. “I want you to know what it’s like to be hated and reviled. I want you to see the falseness of your Order and everything you stand for. But most of all, my darling…” she leans into me, tracing a nail along my bare chest. “…I want to see you burn.”
I keep my face strong, and I stare into her malevolent eyes.
“You wouldn’t have kept me alive for that,” I say.
“Oh,” she laughs. “How wrong you are.”
“I know how your mind works, witch,” I snarl. Hatred pulses through me at being so close to her kind. “You can’t deceive me. I know what you are.”
“You think you know?” She laughs again. Then she steps away and considers.
“Your world is small, Lord Commander. Your beliefs are what limit you. Beliefs in your God, in sins of the flesh, in the rightful order of creatures…”
She trails off. “In the morning, when the sun rises, you will learn what you truly are. And you will discover what your persecution of those different from you has cursed you to become.”
She turns and leaves without another word.
***
For hours, I remain in the dark, counting down the moments until my death.
I’m now certain that death is imminent. Death by fire. They are preparing my body for it.
I haven’t been given food or water. They want to starve me first. They want me to feel the desperation before being given into the flames.
But surprisingly, I do not feel the pervading weakness that indicates a lack of nourishment. There’s a distant type of thirst, deep inside my body, and it’s both stronger and more subtle than any I’ve felt before. But I feel it lower than on my parched lips. I feel it down in the whole of me. I feel it in my chest, in my gut, in my torso and loins and legs.
It’s not something that mere water can fix.
What is happening to me?
I see a crack of light start to seep in through the darkness. The sun is rising outside. My body tenses—I don’t know why. Sunlight should b
e a relief. It casts away darkness and makes the world whole. The sun gives life and birth and renewal.
But something about that particular light makes me want to draw away.
I’ve never had that reaction before.
I watch, breath caught, as the light advances toward me. The creature, that witch, told me that the morning will teach me who I am.
I strain my ears for sound of an approach. But everything is quiet. Everything is still. The light grows stronger, seeping through the thick fabric curtains of my prison.
Nobody is coming. Why?
The light creeps toward me. A sense of great danger overcomes me. My instincts, honed over years on the battlefield, scream at me that something is terribly, horribly wrong.
And then the light reaches my exposed body. It touches my naked skin.
And the moment it does? A roar of agony is ripped from my lips. The pain is endless, ceaseless. It consumes me entirely.
But in the briefest flash of lucidity, I start to understand:
I’ve been made into one of them.
Chapter Four
SMITHSON
My eyes widen when I sense her strength.
The vampire being led forward by the Queen’s middle son is stunning—a radiant, tanned beauty.
She is also strong. Stronger than any I’ve ever encountered before.
Suddenly, all the guards I’ve posted do not seem like enough. She can use our natural hierarchical tendencies to turn them against me. Or, at the very least, to subdue them if a fight breaks out.
My eyes go to the Queen. She and I have history, yes—Morgan was the one who turned me—and my loyalty is unwavering to her for all the things she has opened my eyes to over the centuries.