Rise of the Lycans

by Greg Cox

  Forgive me, Lucian, she thought. I should have paid more heed to your warnings.

  She wondered if she would see her lover again.

  Lucian paced restlessly in the courtyard. His eyes probed the fog beyond the gate for any sign of Sonja’s return. He listened anxiously for the sound of hoof-beats or the clatter of a rolling carriage. Assorted Death Dealers and courtiers milled about by the gateway, waiting to welcome the mortal delegation upon their arrival. Viktor and the High Council were notably absent; no doubt they considered it beneath their dignity to wait in attendance upon mere mortals. Any visitor to the castle was required to present themselves to the Elder and his illustrious court instead. They would be escorted into the great hall at Viktor’s convenience and not a moment before.

  Just as well, Lucian thought, grateful for Viktor’s absence. He was tense enough without having to worry about the Elder’s scrutiny especially after Tanis’ vague insinuations earlier. He recalled the unsettling feeling that had troubled him before, as though he and Sonja had been watched right before they had parted. Was it possible that the ubiquitous scribe knew of their secret liaisons? The very idea was enough to fill Lucian’s soul with dread. Tanis had Viktor’s ear. What might he have told Sonja’s father already?

  Perhaps he only suspects the truth?

  A faint noise, coming from beyond the castle’s walls, immediately drove such concerns to the back of his mind. Lucian threw back his head, straining his ears to make out the disturbing sound, which nobody else in the courtyard seemed to have noticed yet. He sniffed the air.

  Was that a howl he heard?

  And the smell of a hungry beast?

  “No,” he whispered. His heart sank. He knew with certainty that his apprehensions had been fulfilled.

  Sonja was in danger.

  Chapter Seven

  A mud-covered claw erupted from the floor of the forest. Razor-sharp talons sank into the leg of Ivan’s horse, grabbing onto it with preternatural strength. The Death Dealer swore in surprise, and the horse neighed in panic, as his steed was yanked violently to the ground as though being sucked into a mire of voracious quicksand. Hundreds of pounds of screaming horseflesh hit the earth with a thunderous impact. Ivan was thrown from his saddle. His armor crashed loudly against the rocky soil.

  What’s happening? Sonja thought in confusion. Her helmet slipped from her fingers, ringing out as it bounced off a nearby boulder. Shocked by this sudden turn of events, she barely noticed its loss. I don’t understand!

  The stallion’s collapse panicked the horses drawing the carriage. They backed away fearfully, shoving the entire coach backward. A back wheel slipped into a deep rut at the edge of the road and the carriage lurched to one side. Fragile bodies smacked against the interior of the toppled coach. The girl and her family shrieked in fright. The driver shouted uselessly at the distraught horses.

  “God preserve us!” the nameless maiden cried out. “I don’t want to die!”

  Unlike the Death Dealer’s armored destriers, the carriage horses were not trained to ignore the tumult of battle. Gnashing at their bits, the frenzied animals thrashed wildly in their frantic desire to escape the terror that seemed to have struck out of nowhere. They tugged at their restraints until, with a resounding crack, the harness rod snapped in two. The reins were yanked from the driver’s grip as the terrified team bolted for safety, leaving the stranded carriage behind. The horses vanished into the fog but did not get far. Seconds later, a cacophony of savage growls and agonized wails made the team’s gruesome demise horribly clear to anyone with ears. The doomed horses sounded as though they were being ripped apart by bloodthirsty fangs and claws.

  Which was precisely the case.

  The death cries of the butchered horses did not escape Lucian’s keen ears. He realized at once that Sonja and her companions were only moments away from suffering the same fate. He ran up to the nearest Death Dealer and shouted urgently.

  “Get your men out there, NOW!”

  The vampire looked puzzled, and vaguely annoyed, to be addressed so by a mere lycan. Lucian realized to his dismay that no one else had heard the howling yet. The Death Dealers exchanged puzzled looks between themselves, confused by the blacksmith’s intemperate outburst. No one was taking him seriously.

  Fools! he thought angrily. What’s the matter with you? Can’t you hear them dying?

  “Down, boy!” Kosta rode up on his horse and snatched the crossbow from Lucian’s hands. He sat lazily astride the great black stallion. “I think your leash is too tight.” His silver-tipped bullwhip was coiled at his side. He fingered the grip of the lash as he glowered at Lucian. The scornful look in his eyes made it clear that he had not forgotten yesterday’s confrontation. He appeared eager for an excuse to teach the upstart lycan a lesson. “Step ba—”

  “There are too many of them!” Lucian shouted. He tried desperately to make the sneering overseer understand. “They’ll be massacred!”

  But Kosta merely snarled and grabbed onto his whip. Lucian realized that there was no reasoning with the man, nor time enough to bandy words with the uncomprehending Death Dealers. Without a second to lose, he leapt at Kosta and knocked the startled overseer from his saddle. The vampire grunted in pain as he landed hard upon the pavement. Moving swiftly, before any of the other Death Dealers could stop him, Lucian took Kosta’s place within the saddle. He thrust his boots into the stirrups and spurred the steed with his heels. Although he had seldom ridden a horse before, the stallion got the message. It took off at a gallop, nearly trampling a cluster of vampires lingering before the gate. A Death Dealer raised his sword in surprise and Lucian snatched the weapon from the vampire’s hand. His other fist held onto the reins for dear life as the horse raced out of the courtyard.

  “Stop him!” Kosta hollered in rage. “Don’t let him get away!”

  Lucian half expected to feel a crossbow bolt strike him in the back at any moment, but apparently the disorganized Death Dealers were too taken aback by the lycan’s unexpected move to respond with the necessary promptness. Lucian was well beyond the drawbridge, and out of range of the castle’s archers, before anyone fully grasped what had just occurred. The horse’s racing hooves tore up the ground beneath them. A damp, clammy fog enveloped both horse and rider.

  He didn’t even look back. Nothing mattered now but getting to Sonja in time. The ferocious sounds of battle filled his ears, driving him onward. He kicked savagely at the stallion’s flanks.

  Hold on, Sonja! he pleaded silently. His heart pounded in his chest. I’m coming!

  Sonja spun Hecate about as yet another of the guards’ horses went down with a sickening thud. The rider—Blasko by name—tumbled to the ground as well, landing in a heap of flailing limbs and dented metal. His drawn sword flew from his fingers. Swearing profanely, he groped urgently for his weapon.

  Bloody claws, rising up from the earth, tore at the downed horse’s leg. Sonja stared at the carnage in shock, finally grasping what was happening all around her. By the sacred blood of Corvinus, the werewolves are attacking us from below!

  Screams escaped the toppled carriage. Intent on defending the trapped mortals, Sonja tugged on Hecate’s reins, reeling the horse around so that she was facing the coach. She drew her silver-plated sword just as, like a nightmare come to life, a berserk werewolf landed on the armored roof of the carriage. The beast grabbed the shrieking driver with two hairy forepaws and plucked him from his seat as easily as it might lift a child’s doll. Before Sonja could come to the mortal’s aid, the werewolf hurled the driver to the ground, where the man’s skull shattered like an eggshell, spilling his brains onto the muddy earth. A crimson halo pooled around his head. He was killed instantly.

  She suspected that he might be one of the lucky ones.

  The beast was not alone. More werewolves dropped from the trees, attacking the carriage and its defenders. Their barbaric howls competed with the high-pitched screams coming from both the coach and the blindfolded slaves, as
well as the pitiful wails of the crippled horses. Chains rattled as the terrified prisoners tugged uselessly at their bonds. They couldn’t even see what was attacking them, only hear the growls of the monsters.

  “Take your positions!” Sonja shouted over the din.

  Her Death Dealers surged into action. They rallied around the fearless noblewoman, both on foot and on horseback. Ivan and Blasko staggered to their feet, while the remaining horsemen charged into battle. A werewolf lunged from the forest, tackling a mounted warrior named Erzsi and knocking her to the ground. Roaring, the beast slashed at her armor with daggerlike claws. Blood spurted from torn flesh and metal. Erzsi screamed her last.

  The battle had only begun, Sonja realized, and they were already losing. Hot lycan blood sprayed across her face as she hacked and stabbed at the nearest creature. There was no time to recover her helmet; she had only her body armor and sword to defend her.

  That would have to be enough.

  The first werewolf dug his claws into the roof of the carriage. Tortured metal squealed in protest as the monster peeled back a sheet of heavy armor plating….

  “…we beseech Thee, O Lord, that in the hour of our death we may be refreshed by Thy holy Sacraments and delivered from all guilt and so deserve to be received with joy into the arms of Thy tender mercy….”

  Inside the carriage, Natalya’s parents prayed in unison as all the Powers of Darkness seemed to descend on them from without. Her mother’s embroidery lay forgotten upon the floor, along with her father’s parchments. Her mother’s fingers clutched her rosary beads, which a returning Crusader had sworn were carved from pieces of the True Cross. Her father had paid a small fortune for the beads, much good they were doing them now. Father’s head was bowed in prayer. Mother’s chubby face was white as a ghost. Blood leaked from a cut on her father’s brow, sustained when the carriage had tilted abruptly on its side. Natalya’s own bones still ached from the jolt. A bump throbbed at the back of her head. The glass lantern was cracked across its face.

  “…though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we will fear no evil. Please, God, deliver our souls from the clutches of the Evil One….”

  Her parents’ fervent orisons did nothing to alleviate the girl’s terror. She was only sixteen. She was too young to die. She had never even kissed a boy yet!

  “Father…” In the past, whenever her childish imagination had turned shadows in the nursery into lurking specters, her father had always been there to drive her fears away. His warm and comforting presence had been enough to keep the ogres at bay. But one look at his ashen features quickly informed her that she could expect no such deliverance tonight. Against real monsters, he was as helpless as any other man.

  The candle sputtered out, leaving them trapped in the dark.

  No! she despaired. This can’t be happening!

  A wrenching noise came from beyond. Moonlight invaded the carriage, followed by the head of an enormous wolf! A deafening roar filled the darkness. Foam sprayed from immense jaws that snapped wildly at those inside. The beast’s rank breath was as hot as Perdition.

  Mother dived for the floor, but Natalya froze in place, too petrified to move. Memories of Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf flashed through her brain. She couldn’t look away from the creature’s cobalt eyes and gleaming white fangs. Its jaws opened wide.

  The better to eat you with, my dear….

  The werewolf lunged at the girl, but at the last minute, Father shoved her out of the way. She tumbled onto the floor beside her mother, even as her father thrust his body between the monster and his family. The slathering jaws closed on his head and shoulders with a nauseating crunch. Blood splattered the luxurious interior of the wrecked carriage. A headless body dropped onto the embroidered seat cushions.

  Father!

  Cowering on the floor, while her mother feverishly prayed for their souls, Natalya suddenly remembered the expensive damask gown packed away in her luggage. She had spent hours selecting the fabric for the gown with which she had intended the dazzle the fine gentlemen of Lord Viktor’s court. The finest seamstress in the village had tailored the dress especially for her.

  How tragic that she would never get to wear it.

  The battle was still raging when Lucian rode out of the fog into the heat of the conflict. A scene of utter chaos and carnage greeted his eyes, which swiftly took in the stranded carriage, downed horses, and embattled Death Dealers. He saw at once that the vampires were badly outnumbered. He counted at least a dozen werewolves, with who knew how many more lurking in the trees and undergrowth. His grip tightened on the hilt of his stolen sword. Searching desperately for Sonja, he did not immediately spy his love. He cursed the fog and shadows for hiding her from him.

  Where are you, Sonja? Let me know you’re still alive!

  Directly in front of him, an injured Death Dealer was fighting a losing battle against two rabid werewolves, who had him backed up against the mutilated body of his horse. The overwhelmed vampire slashed at one wolf with his sword, while the second wolf snapped at his legs. Mud and gore smeared the knight’s dented armor. One arm hung limply at his side. His sword was broken. The truncated blade was barely the length of a dagger.

  Lucian hesitated for only an instant. Although there was little love lost between him and Viktor’s soldiers, they needed every ally they could spare if any of them hoped to survive this bloodbath. Racing headlong down the road, he leapt from the horse and tackled the nearest monster as if it were a runaway hog. Lycan and werewolf crashed to earth together. Rolling away from the beast, he jumped to his feet and raised his sword. He gripped the hilt with both hands as he swung the blade at the other werewolf’s throat. The blade sliced through tough meat and muscle, nearly severing the werewolf’s head from its shoulders. A scarlet trail streamed behind the sword like the tail of a comet.

  Lucian’s brown eyes turned cobalt blue. A fierce growl filled his ears.

  It took him a second to realize that the growl was coming from his own throat.

  Unable to see a thing because of the thrice-damned hood over his head, Raze could only listen to the nightmarish clamor all around him. Once an accomplished warrior and hunter, he recognized the unmistakable sounds and smells of strife. The screams of the dying warred with the roaring of beasts. The air reeked of blood and fear.

  Death is upon us.

  His fellow prisoners thrashed and screamed like maniacs, tugging so hard on their chains that Raze had to struggle to keep his balance. They pulled in all directions, getting nowhere fast. At the head of the line, just behind the carriage, Raze planted his feet on the muddy ground, anchoring himself to the earth. He wasn’t about to be yanked blindly into the clutches of whatever creatures were assailing the caravan.

  Not while he still had an ounce of strength in his body!

  Despite his nightmarish situation, he refused to panic. He was the son of a sultan and he would not disgrace his ancestors by being slaughtered as easily as a frightened antelope brought down by a lion. His wits were his only weapons now. He would die on his feet if he had to, while looking his killer bravely in the face.

  But first he had to get rid of this stinking hood!

  Bending his thick neck toward his bound hands, he managed to snag the top of the hood with his fingertips. He held on tightly to the coarse fabric and yanked his head back. His heart leapt in excitement as his skull slipped free of the hood for the first time in hours. A smooth brown dome crowned his solid features. A short black beard carpeted his chin. He filled his lungs with the fresh night air. Shrewd brown eyes rapidly assessed the ghastly massacre being waged around him.

  It was even worse than he had imagined.

  Before his eyes, only a few yards away, a knight in black plate armor was dragged down from his horse by a monstrous black wolf the size of a mountain gorilla. Raze saw at once that the creatures attacking the caravan were no ordinary wolves; many of them walked erect like men and stood even taller than Raze himse
lf. Werewolves, he realized, recalling eerie tales told by the other slaves while they huddled together at night. It was said that these inhuman predators had once been mortal men….

  Sprawled upon his back, the fallen knight flailed at the werewolf with his fists, but his blows smacked impotently against the monster’s snout. Jagged fangs punched through metal as the wolf ripped the soldier’s arm from its socket. Bright arterial blood sprayed from the victim’s shoulder, splattering Raze and the other prisoners. Violent death throes rattled the knight’s useless armor as the werewolf tore him apart limb by limb. His horse stampeded away, only to be brought down by two more werewolves. The charger’s frantic whinnies were cut off abruptly.

  The knight’s blood felt surprisingly cold against Raze’s face, more like the blood of a dead man—or an obayifo—than a living warrior. He reached to wipe it away, but the iron manacles weighed down his hands. Thick links of chain still bound him to the back of the carriage, making it impossible to fight back or flee. Although the werewolves seemed to be concentrating on the armed guards at the moment, Raze knew that it was only a matter of time before they feasted on the slaves as well. Chained, he didn’t stand a chance against the bloodthirsty pack. Only with his hands free could he defend himself to the death.

  The empty hood dropped from his fingers. Clenching his teeth, he took hold of one of the chains with both hands and pulled with all his might….

  Flattened against the floor of the carriage, Natalya and her mother clung to each other as they whimpered in terror. The wolf at the roof snapped and snarled, straining to squeeze its shaggy bulk through the gap in the armor. Its claws scraped against the stubborn metal. Drenched in her father’s blood, Natalya squeezed her eyes shut and wondered how much it hurt to be eaten alive. Had her father suffered before he died, or had the wolf’s powerful jaws killed him as swiftly as a headsman’s ax? Natalya sobbed piteously. Her mother’s endless prayers fell on empty ears. Tears streamed from her eyes. What mattered if she died unshriven? They were already in hell.