by Stead, Nick
Lady Sarah felt somewhat disappointed at the way this conversation was going. She had always hoped she was special, the first human to capture his heart, moving him to share his gift so that they might be together for all eternity. But she was starting to get the impression there’d been plenty of others like her over the years.
He smiled again and reached out a hand towards her face. Something pulsed with excitement but still she fought the lust, hissing a warning. The hand withdrew, slowly and without concern. His smile never faltered.
“It may please you to know you were the only new vampire gifted my blood. Mostly we tasked younger vampires than I to create more of our race, and teach them to use their abilities to fight our enemies. But you called to me in a way few mortals ever have and I felt compelled to turn you myself. I knew you would prove worthy of my blood, though I confess, I expected you to find your way back to me sooner.”
Lady Sarah felt her suspicions rise. Vince had told her about the night he’d crossed paths with Ulfarr, which had been round about the same time she’d been turned. So was Ulfarr deliberately lying to her or could it be possible he didn’t know about the second monster he’d created during his visit to their realm?
“Tell me more about our society, such as it is,” she commanded. That also seemed to amuse him.
“Perhaps it is easier if I show you.” He reached out his hand again, but this time it was an offering, rather than another not entirely unwanted advance. She hesitated. The part of her ruled by lust wanted nothing more than to throw herself at him and lose herself in the feel of those muscular arms wrapped around her body. But the rational part of her mind remained wary. He’d shown himself to be far more powerful than she was, and if he meant her harm she knew she would be able to do little about it. And then there was her curiosity he’d successfully piqued. In the end her desire to know more won out, and she took hold of the outstretched hand.
Ulfarr led her away from the streets of humanity and deep into the wilderness. Round the beauty of the fjords they ran and through great valleys carved by ice. They passed over mountains and traversed acres of forest, finally coming to a stop on a hillside. The entrance to a tomb gaped black and foreboding between the trees.
“What is this place?” Lady Sarah asked.
“There was once a human colony near here. This was built to be the resting place for their dead, a row of burial chambers meant to house the greatest of their fallen. But their dead were not at rest and as the years passed the living were driven into madness. They abandoned the area long ago and fled to the coast, never to return. It belongs to us now.”
Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. Ulfarr’s eyes turned hard and cold and all traces of humour fell to the ferocity of a hatred she did not yet understand. Lady Sarah might have asked him about it if wariness hadn’t held her back, and he said nothing to shed light on his feelings. Instead she scanned the untamed land around her, thinking that last statement he’d made was debatable. With the blanket of grass growing over its arched entrance and its broken stone slab lying in pieces half buried in the dirt, the tomb looked to have been reclaimed by nature. But as she followed Ulfarr Wolf’s Bane into the darkness, his words rang true. The unnatural lurked within.
She stepped into a large cavern lit by the glow of candles, each one placed a few feet away from the walls so that they formed an inner circle round the room. The burial chambers Ulfarr had just spoken of looked to have been combined into one big tomb. And what better place for a gathering of undead? Spectral figures looked perfectly at home there, as did the withered, skeletal creatures she would soon learn were ghouls, and the reanimated corpses of zombies who had broken free of their necromancer’s control. Even the two other vampires fit in with their surroundings, their tattered clothing not quite in keeping with the style of sixteenth century Europe and their skin pale.
One vampire was male, his woollen clothes closer to the simple style worn by the peasants of her time. He still wore a tunic and on his legs he had trousers rather than hose, the garment a little too plain and baggy to fit with the current fashion. The sword at his side marked him as a warrior, though the design of it was not one she recognised.
The other was female. Her dress was similarly plain and akin to the clothing worn by the working classes of Lady Sarah’s time. Only the brooches fastening the shoulder straps would have looked out of place in Lady Sarah’s old castle home, and the axe laid across the woman’s lap. Its blade was dulled by the blood of long dead enemies, its handle worn from decades of use.
Both vampires looked like they had been denied their fill of fresh blood, their veins lacking the warmth of stolen life needed to keep their dead bodies functioning. Lady Sarah’s gaze lingered on the two, curious about who they’d been in life and their role in vampire society.
Each of the gathered creatures sat in the room’s outer circle, the candles burning before them and illuminating faces that ranged from unearthly beautiful to hideously grotesque. Only demons were missing from the monstrous crowd. She had crossed paths with one not long after leaving her family home, but only the one. The reason for that would soon become clear – they had already retreated before the Slayers’ onslaught, back to Hell.
Ulfarr escorted her to a space towards the back of the chamber, then positioned himself in the gap directly opposite the entrance. He remained standing.
Lady Sarah glanced round the circle, wondering if these were all representatives each race had appointed to attend this meeting, or council, or whatever it turned out to be. Few took any notice of her, but the male vampire met her gaze, his features sharp and his eyes piercing, like a bird of prey. She sensed he was as curious about her as she was about him. He looked away a moment later, his eyes returning to Ulfarr’s feral figure.
Regardless of whether these undead were part of a hierarchy or merely members of their race who had answered Ulfarr’s call, the respect they had for the Elder was plain to see. Each and every one of them bowed their head as Ulfarr passed, as if he was their king. And perhaps he was. He certainly commanded a great deal of their fealty if he was held in such high regard by more than just vampire-kind.
Silence fell the moment he took his place at the front. More howling could be heard outside, but it might as well have come from another world then. All eyes were on Ulfarr.
“My fellow undead,” he addressed them. “I am sure the non-vampires amongst you are all aware of the role I have played to my brethren over the years. I was the first to be named Elder, a leader they could call on in times of war. It was I who led us into victory over the werewolf scourge and it is I who have slain the rabid members of their foul race.”
“We know who you are, Wolf’s Bane,” said one of the incorporeal members of the meeting. The voice sounded feminine, but her ghostly features looked similar to the ghouls, her face little more than a skull and her spectral limbs withered and skeletal beneath the rags they were wrapped in. “Why do you call us here, first of the vampire Elders?”
Ulfarr dipped his head in a show of mutual respect for the wraith. “To the matter at hand, then. But it is not I who called this meeting. It was in fact Asta who sought me out to hunt down yet another wolf who cannot rise above his beastly origins. That particular wolf has been dealt with, but I found evidence this was not another isolated case of a bloodthirsty lycanthrope guilty of killing other undead.”
“He was part of a pack?” the female wraith guessed. There was an air of impatience and perhaps even a little tiredness to her voice, like this was a story they’d all heard before.
“More troubling than that. I believe there is a growing number of werewolves losing interest in our alliance. They wish for a return to the glory days of Lycaon and I fear they will turn on us in the midst of the coming battles, unless we act now. We must crush this uprising before it can gain any further momentum.”
“Forget the wolves,” the other male vampire said. “The Slayers are the real threat. Their numbers are growing faste
r than any werewolf faction and with humanity’s ongoing quest to unlock all the secrets of the universe, their weapons are becoming more powerful. It has been centuries since the discovery of gunpowder and yet still we have done nothing to prevent them making use of its full potential. Now they have handheld guns which are easier and more reliable to fire at their enemies.”
Ulfarr shook his head, his eyes narrowing with annoyance. “The Slayers are mere humans, Titus. For every undead they kill, we slaughter ten of them. Werewolves do not die so easily.”
Another howl sounded, much closer than before. Close enough to grab their attention, silence falling once again as they sat listening for the sound of approaching werewolves. Sure enough, there was the quiet padding of bare feet. Ulfarr might not have wanted them there, but they were coming anyway. Lady Sarah glanced at him, unsure what this meant. From the way he’d been talking, the werewolves were allies about to betray them all and become enemies worse than the Slayers. And yet, she’d gone two centuries without being attacked by one of their kind. So what was really going on?
The other female vampire, Asta, looked to Ulfarr as well. Even Titus seemed uncertain.
Three figures appeared at the entrance to the tomb. Two were male, one black-haired and one brown, and the other was a fair-haired female. All three of them were naked. Blood and grime caked their skin, their eyes wild and their lips pulled back in bestial snarls, baring stained teeth. But physically they looked human. For now.
“Ulfarr,” the black-haired man growled, stepping into the room. “How fortunate our pack happened to be in the area, since our invite to this moot appears to have been forgotten.”
The Elder’s eyes were filled with disgust as he turned them on the newcomers. When he spoke it was with great reluctance, as if each word pained him. “The moot recognises Cromus, son of Lycaon. You may speak.”
“So kind of you, when it is my race the moot is discussing.” Cromus prowled into the centre of the circle with the same level of confidence Ulfarr possessed. All eyes were on him now. He ignored them, keeping his own gaze on Ulfarr’s.
The female had hold of Cromus’s hand. She seemed reluctant to let it go, stretching her arm out as far as it would reach. But she didn’t follow him, and she allowed his fingers to slip through hers a moment later. Lady Sarah couldn’t help but wonder if they ran in packs similar to true wolves. Perhaps this was the alpha pair, and the other male was the beta.
“That is what you were talking about, I believe?” Cromus continued. He was no longer snarling, his lips now twisted into a smile. But it wasn’t friendly. It was more like the smile of a man utterly sure of himself and his own strength and abilities. “Unless my ears deceive me. It was a long run, and my stomach was growling for most of it. But is that not the beauty of packs? The rest of my brothers and sisters will hunt while we three represent them at this moot, and they will bring us a share to ease the hunger in our bellies, until the opportunity arises to kill again.”
Lady Sarah had another quick glance around the room. Was that meant to be a threat? But only Asta looked worried, though that didn’t bring her much comfort. She reminded herself she could take to the skies if she had to, and the thought that they wouldn’t be able to give chase helped settle her nerves.
“Speak your piece, wolf,” Ulfarr answered, almost growling himself. If he was trying to hide his loathing he was failing miserably.
“Very well,” Cromus said, his smile slipping behind a mask of neutrality, like an animal slinking into the cover of the shadows. “I am aware you slaughtered another of my brethren recently. Centuries ago I would have answered that with blood.”
The female smirked at those words but she held her tongue. The other male was still snarling. If he’d been in wolf form Lady Sarah would have said his hackles were raised, but as a human he lacked the hair for such an impressive display. He looked to be tensing his shoulders slightly though, making his collar bone stand out more and giving the appearance of being slightly bigger.
“Your point?” Ulfarr hissed.
“This may surprise you all, but I agree with Titus. The Slayers are a growing threat, one we should be focusing all our combined rage and bloodlust on. We can go back to waging war on each other once humanity have been reminded of their place in the world. Until then, the only blood we should be spilling is human.”
“So you say. And yet your kindred continue to feed their bloodlust on human and undead alike.”
“Really? It seems to me the only undead we are ever accused of killing is vampires. Why is that, Ulfarr? Could it be that it is your race attacking mine, and my kin are merely defending themselves?”
“No,” Ulfarr sneered. “We vampires are not given to such uncontrollable fits of violence. We are not animals and our base instincts do not drive us.”
“Careful,” one of the ghouls said. Its voice was guttural and cracked with each word, as if the creature’s rotten vocal cords struggled to make the sounds of speech. It was impossible to tell the gender of the ghouls, both voice and body too far gone to distinguish them as one or the other. “Ghouls driven by hunger also. But not animals either.”
“My apologies.” Ulfarr bowed his head again.
“This is a waste of time, Cromus,” the female werewolf said, unable to contain herself any longer. Impatience ruled her fierce features. “I have yet to meet a vampire who is not living in the past. Their minds never change and their hatred dies only with the rest of their being.”
Cromus still did not take his eyes from Ulfarr. “Perhaps you are right, Lucia. But unless we can find a way to truly honour this alliance for as long as it holds, I fear we are merely handing the Slayers their victory.”
The female wraith turned her skeletal face towards Cromus. Her lipless jaws would be forever trapped in a macabre grin, but her tone remained serious and her voice was full of strength, though not unkindly. “What do you propose, alpha wolf?”
“Once we fought a great battle, when the Demon Slayers first formed and rallied against our weakened forces. That was the beginning of our alliance, was it not?” Cromus said.
Ulfarr’s face twisted into an irritated half smile and he shook his head again. “We all know our history. Make your point, alpha.”
But he glanced at Lady Sarah and the attention of the moot shifted with him. A lesser woman might have wilted beneath the mix of curious stares and outright hostile glares from around the chamber. The glaring was not limited to the werewolves either. Lucia and the other male were looking at her in the same way rival predators might eye each other across a kill, but she also picked up a similarly fierce energy from Asta’s gaze. Was the female vampire jealous?
Lady Sarah sat tall and proud as she looked each of them in the eye, unflinching and without any sign of fear. The unease the werewolves had stirred in her was under control. She maintained a similar air of confidence to Cromus, the only one whose gaze did little more than flicker in her direction before settling back on Ulfarr.
“Very well,” Cromus growled, appearing to struggle with the fires of anger Ulfarr was deliberately stoking. The others turned their attention back to the two leaders. “Unless something has changed which we werewolves have not been made aware of, then that alliance still stands. We fought mankind once and lost. Now I propose we fight them again and win.”
“Agreed,” Titus said. “We should unite as one mighty army to deal with the threat of the Slayers before they gain any more power.”
“Yes,” Cromus answered. “And then we must crush mankind’s spirit to prevent any further uprisings and restore our position as the hunters, not the hunted.”
Ulfarr hissed. “We would not be in a position of prey if your father had not succumbed to greed and set out to conquer the entire world.”
Lucia’s impatience turned to rage. It burnt through the cool blue of her human eyes, turning them to lupine amber and making her appear all the more feral. “Are you saying werewolves are to blame for the rise of the Slayers?”
Ulfarr appeared unimpressed, though his hand gripped the hilt of his sword. Its skull shaped pommel glinted in the candlelight, as if with the promise of the swift death it would bring. “Yes. For millennia we ruled the night, unchallenged by all but the bravest of men. We were unstoppable and we had our pick of any victims we chose. Then Lycaon became the filthy beast who would spread the disease of lycanthropy far and wide, leading us all into war – first against each other, and then against man. The Demon Slayers would never have formed if we had stayed in the shadows and kept our bloodlusts in check.”
“Nobody forced the vampires into battle against us!” Her teeth were also changing, both her upper and lower canines growing longer and sharper, and her nails becoming claws.
Cromus glanced at her but his face remained neutral. There was no warning in his eyes, no attempt to silently communicate any commands to the female. His gaze slid back to Ulfarr. “We have all made mistakes. The time has come to put the past behind us, at least until the Slayers are defeated and our future is secured.”
“I told this council once and I will do so again,” Ulfarr growled, stepping into the centre of the circle and stalking over to the alpha werewolf as though he intended to duel with him. “I will not fight alongside the kind of mindless animals who value slaughter and flesh over loyalty.”
Lucia responded with a roar so full of rage and hate that Lady Sarah struggled to imagine their two races ever standing together as allies. The she-wolf seemed to give in to her transformation then, though she did not become a full wolf as Lady Sarah always did.
Fur burst from her skin, as though her body were a cage for her inner wolf which the animal was now breaking out of. Her face stretched out into a muzzle filled with fangs meant to rip through flesh and crush bone, her nose darkening to black, while her ears slid up to the top of her head and grew pointed. A tail sprang out of the base of her spine and the structure of her feet altered so she was standing on her toes, their appearance more like paws than human feet. But the rest of her body remained mostly human.