Immortal Defiance

by Laura Maybrooke

  “We have narrowed them down to three or four potential leads.”

  “Except the tracks are hard to read,” Mishana said. “It is almost as if someone has been messing with them on purpose. It is the only explanation.”

  Dulcea nodded. “That would not surprise me, considering we know he had accomplices.”

  “What of your own investigation? Were you able to determine the exact number of them?”

  “Yes. There seems to be four of them,” she said. “Of them, two were his tent mates and therefore certain accomplices. The third is his squire, and the fourth is a long-time servant of House Surinquel, with reported ties to relatives who practice outlawed arts.”

  Mishana sneered. “These relatives, I suppose, are unavailable for questioning?”

  “Correct, yes.” Dulcea rolled her eyes. “That is eight persons missing, including him, who might have had a hand in this whole affair.”

  “Does that figure seem correct to you?” the elven tracker asked.

  “It does,” she said. “Even counting the guards, I never saw more people than that with him. It was a conspiracy, not a rebellion.”

  Ekram cleared his throat. “Mishana and I have been trying to figure out where a man like him might seek shelter. A runaway group of Silver Elves is sure to attract attention.”

  Dulcea’s expression eased. “True. I had not considered this.”

  “We discovered a set of tracks leading to the little roadside village of Amorra, about nine miles from here. A group traveled that way,” he said. “We sent a few people to ask questions, but the local folk did not seem to know anything. Should they be hiding them, they are doing a damn good job of covering it up.”

  Mishana pursed her lips, tossing her sleek ruby red hair. “The men of Amorra are simple farmers; they want nothing to do with the war. I doubt they are hiding anyone in their barns and stables.”

  “It would seem far-fetched, yes. Not Amorra then.” Dulcea tapped her cheek. “You mentioned other leads. What are they?”

  “I tell Ekram he is wasting his time, but he will not believe me. We are not in agreement about the last set of tracks, but the other two seem to be authentic.”

  Ekram scowled at his friend. “Both set of tracks come from a group of five to seven people. Their direction is straight into the wilderness. One set goes east, the other south. However, the southern tracks make a beeline back north some twelve miles from here, without having visited any a village or castle on the way. Both sets look promising, though, from a tracker’s point of view.”

  Dulcea pressed a hand over her mouth for a moment. “The tracks returning north worry me,” she said at length. “If that traitor Delbin somehow got himself across the river and joined the Saruseans in their camp, then we’ve lost his trail.”

  Just then, the curtain door to the Audience Tent rustled, and General Hai’Mezene entered. He took a seat opposite of Dulcea and launched into his narrative. The barbarian had met with Lady Ailea who was the widowed sister-in-law of a man suspected of being in league with Delbin. She had told the chief that he and his cousins had used to call upon the powers of any a god in the mood to listen, no matter the price.

  Dulcea sighed, thrumming her fingers on the table. This confirmed what they had already suspected about the identity of Delbin’s accomplices and revealed to her the names of the people who had cursed her.

  The only question was: where was Delbin, and how were they going to locate him?

  ---

  Dulcea was sitting at her desk later that evening, reviewing notes in her journal when she sensed the strange shift in the air. She kept her eyes to the page, an irrational hope in her mind. Perhaps if she ignored him, he might go away. Her hand trembled as it turned the page. Moments passed, overly long and tense, but the eeriness of his presence lingered. At last she raised her gaze.

  “Why do you do that?” She hid the war journal from his view.

  “Good evening to you, too, my lady.”

  Krath took a seat at the other end of her desk, as though he had come for an audience.

  “You came then.” She felt a little silly for stating the obvious.

  “As I let you understand I would,” he said. “I never make promises in vain.”

  She snorted. “It seems you have caught me at an opportune moment then.”

  “You are rather feisty when you believe yourself safe, are you not?” He grinned.

  “Should I not think it then? Do you foresee a change in my safety?”

  “One can always find danger in this world.” He shrugged. “But I promise you this, Lady Dulcea: you will not come to harm tonight while within my presence. The world I cannot promise, but from me you are safe. I would not have you worry about that.”

  “I do not, but this is good of you to say.” She inclined her head in acknowledgment of his words.

  As much as he thrilled her intellect, Krath also terrified her on a deeply instinctive level. There were things about him that made her anxious, but the possibility that he would attack her in the privacy of her own tent was not one of them.

  “I wish you would not fear me. I only want the pleasure of your company.”

  Dulcea raised her chin. “You may have my company, but the pleasure of it I cannot guarantee.”

  His smile widened. “Oh. I am finding it delightful.”

  Krath folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. Dulcea frowned, chancing a quick look at him. He was wearing a dark velvet jacket embroidered with silver thread, white ruffle peeking from under the collar and the cuffs. Krath looked handsome as always, but there was something predatory about him in this state. The way he looked at her made her feel uneasy.

  He both challenged and provoked her.

  “Five days will soon have passed since your return,” he said. “I hope you found the world as you left it, aside the traitorous plots against you.”

  Dulcea nodded. “The situation was as you described it.”

  “And you are yourself again? Your powers are unblocked?”

  “Yes. I had my general, the high priest Myoden to help me.”

  “I am glad of it. I never meant your war any harm.”

  “It seems to me it is by a mere stroke of luck I am here.” Dulcea raised an eyebrow at him.

  “That is bold of you to say, but you are not wrong.” The vampire rubbed his chin. “I think you enjoy a challenge, don’t you, Lady Dulcea? I know what you are thinking. ‘He is good with a sword. He could kill a thousand Saruseans for me.’ Yes, I am, and I could, but I will not do it. There is nothing to make me think it worth the effort.”

  The words, as he said them, she realized were both true and an unconscious wish.

  “It does not bother you to live on occupied land?” she asked, giving him a sly look.

  Krath shrugged. “I do not see why that should concern me. We have passed peaceful centuries as ignorant neighbors. So long as I am not exposed, the seasons may change as they please.”

  She scowled. “The years may have been peaceful to you, but the rest of us have fought to stay alive.”

  “Again: why should that concern me?”

  “You live on the land of your forefathers—proud men of old who would shudder to see this world as it is today. Do you care none about your ancestors’ hard work for a country of their own?”

  “My forefathers?” He sounded incredulous. “How would Usvameer be where my origins are?”

  Dulcea hesitated, remembering his words from before. Said House existed in another land… another time… She had assumed he was being dramatic. Had she misinterpreted him, after all?

  Where were his origins if not in the knights’ realm?

  “You are not from Usvameer?” She bit her lip. “That is… not what I expected.”

  He had claimed no relation to the nobles of Usvameer, but after the reveal of his true nature, she had assumed he meant the current nobility. His complexion, despite the pallor of his countenance making identification
more difficult, bespoke of more northern regions, and noble houses had ever existed only in Lavea, Usvameer, Avarea, and Sraeyn.

  “Are you… Lavean then?” Dulcea asked, arriving at the only conclusion available to her.

  “In a way. The Laveans were once my people.” Krath nodded. “Although, now we are nothing but the most distant kin, at least seventy-five generations apart…”

  “Have you no wish to save the land of your ancestry—or the people who inhabit it now?”

  The vampire scoffed. “Why? What value do their lives hold to me?”

  “You seem determined to isolate yourself from the world.” Dulcea crossed her arms. “How on earth do you get by? Your servants are human—they are alive. They need to eat, don’t they? How do you come by food for them? The dishes they served me were most excellent.”

  “The river valley where Gwyndoorn lies yields plenty of ingredients,” he said. “Fish, game, berries, fruits, nuts, edible roots; just to name a few. The huntsmen in my service provide for the whole household. They are self-sufficient in that respect: nobody will starve while I am gone, be it for a day or a fortnight. The kitchen staff sometimes also shops in the nearby Lavean market towns, buying certain non-perishable goods like grains, flour, and peas.”

  “How many servants does it take to run Gwyndoorn?” she asked with genuine interest.

  “Far less than it would if it were a place where nobles hold court,” he said. “The castles with popular, generous lords, like at the Castle Yarnfall which lies close to your upstream camp, need a live-in population in the hundreds. By comparison, mine is only in the tens.”

  Despite the time she had spent around kings and lords, the inner workings of a castle’s household were still a mystery to her. Dulcea was both astonished and impressed as Krath described to her the professions it took to run Gwyndoorn. Chamberlains and stewards, cooks and bakers. Carpenters and candle makers, gardeners and potters. Chambermaids and laundresses, pages and valets. Huntsmen, watchmen, and falconers.

  Dulcea blinked. “For real? That is insane. I hadn’t the foggiest idea.”

  Krath grinned. “Some would consider that a small household.”

  “What about Lucindra, Mey, and Violetta? You had them assist me, but—”

  “They are chambermaids, but they double or triple in whatever role I require of them. I’ve little use for a lady’s maid, as I am sure you understand. It would not pay to upkeep them for what they are worth.”

  “Right. You do not get many noble ladies for a visitor, do you?”

  “No. No one ever visits Gwyndoorn; it would defeat the purpose of trying to stay hidden, wouldn’t it?” He gave a short laugh. “Besides, what kind of noble lady or lord would want to visit a ruined, haunted castle where the forgotten traps of an evil, dark cult still await?”

  “None, I would imagine.” Dulcea turned her head to the side, hiding a smile.

  “The role of a popular castle lord is not unknown to me, however. I once played a local lord, with plenty of visitors to my castle. This was during a time when there were still… more of us. This was further down south from here, during an era when these parts of Usvameer still belonged to the Kingdom of Lavea. That old castle, before you ask, well… it is not in existence anymore.”

  “Oh. That’s right! This was once Lavean territory. I recall a colleague at the White Tower telling me that, but otherwise it is something no chronicle I read ever mentions…”

  “It is not a fact the Saruseans want known. They destroyed a lot of history when they came to this continent,” he said. “Usvameer was once but a small seafarers’ nation. Kings and knights did not come until much later. This tale is none different from that of Sraeyn and Miranma. You know about that, I assume?”

  Dulcea tapped a finger to her chin, her brow furrowing.

  “Yes, I think so.” She gave an uncertain nod. “The Sraeynians came from the north, after a lost war, and settled down south: driving the barbarians into what is present-day Miranma.”

  Krath smirked. “Now, isn’t that an interesting consideration? Were they barbarians then already, or did their relocation force them to it? I suppose we will never know…”

  “I suppose so.” She shrugged. “Human memory is far too short for that.”

  “True. Human generations fade so fast,” the vampire said. “Each turn of the wheel means a lot of history lost, and things repeat for that exact reason—because nobody remembers anymore. Almost the whole of what you would these days consider Usvameer was once under Lavean dominion. Do you recall how long ago this was? I will give you a hint: it is much less than you would imagine.”

  “I would like to say around the time of the Sarusean invasion, but it must be less, considering the way you posed the question.”

  “You are right,” he said. “It is only these last three hundred and fifty years that Usvameer has been this vast country you now know. The history of their kingdom stretches over a millennium, and before that they were a free nation without rulers. The Saruseans have long sought to subdue and hide from the public the knowledge of this nation’s violent past.”

  “Violence breeds violence,” she said, “and it might have undermined their supreme authority.”

  The hour soon grew long as they fell into a discussion about Usvameer’s past. To Dulcea’s mild embarrassment it was only as Krath mentioned it that she noted the time. Outside the light had dimmed, the sun having sank beyond the horizon a good while back.

  The vampire got up, regarding her with some mirth. Dulcea felt compelled to follow his lead, but she kept the desk between them.

  “Will you thank me now?” His voice was soft, almost teasing.

  She had enjoyed their conversation, but she would not let him know that. She shook her head.

  He laughed. “No matter then.”

  Krath gave her a polite bow, and then disappeared, leaving her alone in the silence of her tent.

  Chapter 18

  The Agreement

  A few days later, in the middle of a sudden summery downpour, Myoden stopped her on her way back to her own tent. Dulcea halted, her eyes widening in confusion. She had just exited the War Tent a minute before, having concluded her meeting with him, Nemnyan, and Hai’Mezene. The priest drew her under the threshold of a random army tent, the open doorway of it allowing them some shelter from the heavy rain. From the corner of her eye Dulcea spied her guards huddling under similar makeshift shelters. The conditions at camp were never good when it poured. They treated all the tents with linseed oil to increase their water resistance, but the camp was still damp and cold on wet days.

  Rain had matted Myoden’s hair to his scalp, and his robes hung heavily on him.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Was there something else? Did we forget something?”

  “No, but I wanted to discuss something a little… delicate with you,” he said, still holding her arm.

  “Not here.” Dulcea frowned at his choice of words. “Come into my tent.”

  They hurried the last thirty yards to her tent and shoved themselves inside. They took seats near the little potbellied stove to the side of her tent’s work and study area and waited while a servant came to tend to the fire. Dulcea held her hands to the stove, trying to warm herself.

  “What did you wish to discuss, Myoden?” She glanced at him from under wet bangs.

  He stared at his hands in his lap. “I wanted to apologize to you.”

  Dulcea blinked. “I don’t understand. Whatever for?”

  “My admiration for you can be no secret to you, my lady.” The priest kept his gaze down, not looking at her. “Alas, it seems everyone knows that. I have shown a public preference to a woman to whom I am not betrothed, thus enabling the misuse of my feelings to your detriment.”

  She swallowed. “I am not sure what I should say…”

  “Do not fear that I would declare myself to you. That would be inappropriate.”

  Then, realizing what he had just said, Myoden laughed and g
ave her an embarrassed smile.

  “Even more inappropriate than it already is, I mean.” He grimaced. “I understand now why Delbin claimed a romance between you two: it was because of the obviousness of my feelings for you.” Myoden sighed. “It vexes me to admit this, but I was jealous. It blinded me to the incredibility of his story when I should have suspected him of falsehood. I erred by accepting the tale of his House having secured your hand in marriage! I know you better than that. You are—”

  “Not considering matrimony at the moment,” she said, “and anything else is out of the question. You are right—you should have known to suspect him. You are a high priest of Lordanys and know how these things work. There would have been records, banns of marriage filed to a priest of your clergy, if not to you yourself. The proof to dispute what he claimed would have been there—but no one is infallible. We all make mistakes. I forgive you. You erred because you were too close to see the truth.”

  “Thank you, but that is the problem, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have been too close to see it. He knew how to use it against me. It is inexcusable of me to have allowed him that.”

  “Myoden, you are a good man, and I—”

  He raised a hand to stop her. “No, please. Don’t say it. You know my feelings; I suppose I couldn’t have made them any clearer than I did when I tried to kiss you in Avarea. It was because we were away—I forgot myself.” Myoden tapped his fingers on his knee. “It would be foolish of me right now to ask an intermediary from the Order of Lordanys to present my suit to you. I realize the current circumstances would no doubt make you reject it, and I rather live with the possibility of your rejection than the truth of it. That way, I still have hope of your acceptance after the war.”

  They stared at one other in silence: pondering each other’s words in the slow heat of the potbellied little stove. Raindrops kept hitting the oiled canvas above their heads: a constant, harmonious sound that rendered her drowsy. Dulcea wished she could have stayed in that moment.

  Despite the knowledge of Myoden’s feelings, there was no great awkwardness between them.