Immortal Defiance Page 4

  There was grace, strength, and conscious control in the way he carried himself. For a human, he seemed no older than thirty years, but the way he spoke of himself revealed he was in fact much older than that. Mages, enchanters, and priests enjoyed longer lives when in service of their deities, but he did not dress, fight, or use magic like a mage. Neither was he an enchanter—she could tell her own kind from afar. A dark priest then? Asherac’s priests’ skills comprised nothing more than torture and murder. Their power was limited to condemning mortal souls into Asherac’s service.

  She doubted he was a priest of Sarosha, either. Mist Elves, who worshiped the Goddess of Death, made up a small but important part of the Caerynian army, and Dulcea had spent a long time around them by now. She knew they could not travel through the Netherworld the way Krath had done.

  She bit her lip. “I suppose you are not a mortal at all, but only wear a human disguise,” she said. “Your connection to the Netherworld suggests to me you are… an escaped demon, perhaps.”

  Krath smirked.

  “An escaped demon.” He repeated the words, savoring them. “You are right: I have escaped, and I am, after a fashion, a demon. The precise word is vampire.”

  Chapter 3

  On the Trail of the Dead

  Dranmore, Camp Fort Izar. Long Nights’ Moon (winter season 7092 - 7093).

  The sixth year of the Rebellion.

  Slow and monotonous days rolled by, making way for the approaching winter of Long Nights’ Moon with its cool, rainy weather. Cold wind blew from the north, and far on the horizon, the sky was pale with snow.

  The winter brought with it new recruits, and their arrival had sent the camp at Fort Izar into turmoil. The Shadow Guild was a haven for thieves, renegades, occultists, and necromancers. Some conjurers among them were harmless, but many prayed to evil creatures that gorged on the flesh and blood of their victims. Their kind were an abhorrence to most of the army.

  One of their leaders, a man by the name of Meriman, was a childhood friend of General Haden. He often sat with them around the campfire, regaling them with tall tales of his time in the Shadow Guild. He, in particular, considered it a riveting story how an undead creature had almost ripped off his head.

  “Honestly! Does that make anyone else sick?” Tarim slumped down in his chair. “Can’t he just keep his stories to himself!? I keep thinking about those monsters, and it gives me nightmares!”

  Haden laughed. “Well, he is a little extreme, but he means nothing bad by it. That’s just the way he is. We were all raised a little wild; it is a wonder we did not all turn out robbers and assassins. I’ve known Meriman since we were little boys—six or seven years of age, and you’ll not find a better comrade-in-arms than him. You do him injustice with such talk, Tarim.”

  Myoden stiffened, fixing a cold, hard stare on the pale-haired mercenary leader. “Meriman needs to mind his tongue. That kind of talk is unacceptable. Either you tell him, or I will.” He caught Dulcea’s eye over the table, her repulsion mirroring his. “They are farmers’ boys, Haden; they need not know about creatures that live although they should be dead. It is unnatural.”

  ---

  Dulcea stared at Krath in silence. Not only was he a creature of darkness, but he was dead. How had she not noticed that? She was breakfasting with a walking corpse. Dulcea realized she could not eat another bite and pushed her plate away.

  “You… you do not look like a vampire,” she said.

  Krath seemed amused by this.

  “Why, have you seen a vampire before?” He leaned closer, favoring her with a broad grin, and for the first time she saw the flash of sharp canines in his mouth.

  “No, but I know necromancers can raise vampires, and they—”

  “—are nothing more than rotting corpses set back on their feet?” Krath smirked, finishing her words for her. “Necromancers can raise many kinds of blood-sucking and flesh-eating slaves, that is true, but they cannot create true vampires. We possess intelligence and free will. And I assure you we do not rot.”

  She fought not to wince, thinking it might offend him. “But is it true you drink blood?”

  “Yes.”

  A sudden chill ran down her spine, and Dulcea cast her gaze on the goblet in his hand.

  “You are wondering about this?” Krath guessed, putting his goblet down. “It is just red wine. You may examine it if you wish. I can drink it, but I do not taste it. It does nothing to nourish me. I just do this to put mortals around me at ease.”

  “So, when you said you had fed earlier…” She could not bring herself to finish the sentence.

  “I drank blood, yes.”

  Her stomach lurched, but she had to ask.

  “Off a living person?”

  “Yes. I drank the blood of a few of the priests at the temple. My bite can be just as lethal a weapon as a sword is.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest. “Do you mean to drink my blood? Is that what I am here for?”

  “You are asking about my intentions again, my lady.”

  Dulcea took a deep breath and told herself to remain calm.

  “You said you haven’t decided yet,” she said. “I remember.”

  “You are a fascinating woman, Lady Dulcea, and your presence here amuses me. For the moment, I just wish to enjoy your conversation.”

  “May my conversation continue to amuse you then,” she said, putting her hands down in her lap to conceal the fact they were shaking. “What… what else do you do asides from drinking blood? Are you kin to what the necromancers raise? Do you… eat people?”

  “No. I only drink the blood. The rest is of no interest to me.”

  Dulcea fell silent, not knowing what kind of conversation he expected of her. Krath frightened her far more now that she understood what he was. He seemed to sense her dilemma and gave a slight nod.

  “Please continue, my lady. You’ve got questions, and I am not offended by honest inquiry.”

  “Do you drink the blood of animals as well?” She was proud of how calm she sounded.

  “I can consume the blood of animals, but the taste is not as good.”

  “And… your connection to the Netherworld?”

  “I inhabit the land of the living and prey upon mortals, but I am dead. Therefore, I can visit the realm of the dead if I so choose, but I cannot exist there forevermore. I need nourishment, and the Netherworld does not provide.”

  It occurred to her then that Krath was not inhabiting this castle alone.

  “Are your servants vampires as well?” She shuddered at the prospect.

  “No. They are thralls. They are under my power, but they are alive.”

  Dulcea raised her eyebrows in wonder, her mouth parting. “Thralls. What does that mean?”

  “They do my bidding.”

  “… They are your slaves; you mean.”

  “You may call them slaves if you prefer.” He shrugged. “They do not possess a will of their own. They want only to obey.”

  Dulcea resented this and wanted to change the subject. She turned her gaze away, staring at the colored patches of morning light on the walls. The vampire, however, seemed to want to prove his point.

  “Lucindra! Mey! Violetta!” His voice remained at a low, conversational pitch.

  Dulcea was sure they could not have heard him, but soon enough the three maids who had dressed her after her bath came in through the servant entrance. They curtsied to their master, awaiting his orders. Krath stood up and went to the first blond girl, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  “Allow me to explain how I do things here, my lady. I require mortal agents to run the everyday affairs of Gwyndoorn. These ladies are here to keep the castle clean, run errands, and be your handmaidens. You believe I kidnapped these girls and forced them into my service, isn’t that right?”

  Dulcea swallowed. “The thought crossed my mind, my lord.”

  “I am not vile. I get no joy out of tearing people away from their families. My servant
s are people who have lost everything important to them. Lucindra here married a man thrice her age and tried to drown herself by throwing herself into the river, but I caught her and brought her here. Now Mey—” He moved to touch the bronze-skinned Avarean girl’s shoulder — “was traveling to the market with her merchant father when highwaymen ambushed them. They killed her father and planned to keep her around as their plaything, but I snatched her away from them, and she has been in my service ever since.”

  He moved to the last girl.

  “Violetta’s entire village perished in an outbreak of spotted fever. She was the last one alive and would have died as well had I not come across her. What do you think of their fates, my lady? Would you still call them slaves?”

  Dulcea hesitated.

  His pale turquoise eyes held hers, not letting her escape. “Speak your mind, my lady.”

  “They are alive, but they are not free,” she said. “If you let them go, they could build new lives for themselves.”

  “Some of them might, yes, and some others not. Do not fool yourself by thinking that freedom alone would make anyone happy. What good is freedom if your loved ones are dead, and you have nowhere to go? We are not born under equal stars; not everyone is strong enough to start over and survive. And I make no claim of rescuing people. I take for my servants the people who would have died otherwise and have them serve me until they die of natural causes the way all mortals do.”

  “Perhaps some of them would rather be dead then?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

  Krath did not reply at first, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  “It matters not,” he said at length. “The only will they know is mine. My servants have such painful things in their past they would not do their work well if I let them dwell on it. There are no happy endings, Lady Dulcea. I am not a cruel master—my servants do not suffer—but they answer to me and are mine to command.”

  “You forbade them from speaking with me!” Her blood flared up in anger, heat suffusing her face.

  “It was only so you wouldn’t get scared by what they might say. You may speak with them all you like from now on. They can tell you some things about their past lives from before they came here, but the only thing they desire is to stay and serve me.”

  Krath waved the women to go, and they left the room. Dulcea felt he had shown her the future. The vampire might drink her blood and kill her, or he might turn her into one of his mindless servants, unless he had some other plans for her first. She gulped, her face paling. He looked alive; did that mean he was alive in some respects? His nature repulsed her, but he had spoken true. Krath was intelligent and seemed to possess free will. He was nobody’s puppet.

  Did he have a companion, another vampire she was yet to meet? Or did he inhabit this castle alone with his servants? Did he have the same physical desires as mortals? How did he reproduce? Dulcea wiped her moist palms on the folds of her dress. She swallowed. There was a certain seductiveness about him that was almost unconscious, like second nature.

  “What is it you’re thinking now?” he said, resuming his seat.

  “Nothing.” Dulcea turned her head away.

  He wanted her to be honest, but it was improper. It was different on the battlefield where she was a respected leader, but away from that setting she was a noble lady captured by society’s expectations. And to think where the circumstances had brought her, alone to the castle of a horrifying creature whose only attempt at humanity was the deceptive disguise he wore! Dulcea trembled. The mere thought of how Krath had clasped her in his arms before taking her through the Netherworld was enough to still make her shudder.

  “I was wondering…” She tried to come up with something to discuss and asked, “How is it you know my name?”

  Krath laughed, and she flushed in irritated embarrassment. She knew the question was lame, but his open amusement annoyed her. She fisted her hands.

  “I apologize. I did not mean to offend you, but you must realize how strange your question sounds. Everyone in Caeryn knows your name, Lady Dulcea.”

  “What were you doing at Serpent Rocks?”

  “I found out about your capture and wanted to see if it would benefit me.”

  “I see. It was like with your servants: I was about to die, and you offered me a different fate and brought me here.”

  He nodded. “That is correct.”

  “… Except you haven’t decided yet what to do with me.” She picked at her dress with shaky fingers. “Is becoming your thrall a likely possibility?”

  “I suppose it could be. Thralls make for poor conversation, though.”

  His tone was neutral, but a look of something dark passed over his countenance. Loneliness? She supposed he had no companion then. Was he somehow created like this, or had he been human once?

  “How old are you, my lord?”

  “So old the number has become meaningless to me,” he said. “I am immortal. I am fifteen hundred years old, give or take a few decades. And you, my lady?”

  “I am one quarter and a century old. And as you must know, I am not immortal.”

  He smiled in a way that bared his teeth. “Would you like to be?”

  “No, I do not think so.”

  “Isn’t immortality the dream of all mortals?”

  “Common foolishness.” Dulcea shook her head. “I know many people bewail their short lifespan, but they do not consider how boring a long life can get. And immortality… how does one retain a meaningful existence when it can stretch on for all eternity?”

  “A wise answer, my lady.” The vampire seemed pleased. “But isn’t your rebellion against the Sarusean tyranny also a search after immortality?”

  “No. How could it?” His words made no sense to her.

  “Do you not wish to have your name spoken of in the centuries to come as the living legend of Caeryn, the liberator of this continent? Is it not your desire that bards should sing songs of you?”

  Her cheeks pinked in displeasure. “I never started the rebellion just to seek fame!”

  “What were your reasons then?”

  “I wanted to give the people their freedom.” Dulcea lifted her chin. “I could not watch the tyranny and abuse anymore, and no one was doing anything about it.”

  “So you did something about it?”

  “Yes.” She stared him straight in the eye, unflinching.

  “All by yourself, with no help from anyone?”

  “The idea was my own.” She hesitated. “… But there isn’t much I could have done if I hadn’t been able to summon the golden dragons and convince them of my cause.”

  “Ah yes. Tell me about that.”

  Dulcea worried her lip with her teeth, wondering how much of her past it was prudent to divulge.

  “You know my reputation as a master enchantress, I suppose?”

  “Such is the rumor, yes.”

  “I am an only child of the noble House of Silanquel. My House shares some ancestry with the House of the Emperor. I was five and twenty when I left the Silverwoods to study at the enchanters’ White Tower in Sraeyn. I passed near a century there, rising from a student to one of the senior enchanters. While I was there, I learned the Adeganethar, the golden dragonstone, had wound up there around the time when the last Sraeynian dragonlord disappeared.”

  “The year before the Sarusean invasion. Six centuries ago.” He nodded.

  “The stone was in no one’s possession. It was just gathering cobwebs there.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “My naivete had left me by then. As a young girl, I imagined that entering the forbidden academy was an act of rebellion against the Sarusean rule.” Dulcea gave a bitter laugh. “Such foolishness. Even in the tower we lived in the constant fear of being discovered.”

  “… And you began to wonder about what use is power if its only purpose is to hide you from the world?”

  She gave him a sharp look, alarmed by the acuteness of his ob
servation. “Yes. I was a fool to exchange one cage for another.” Dulcea sighed. “I tried to talk to my students, but they reported me to the Council, leaving me no other option but to return home. I took… the golden dragonstone with me.”

  “Oh? I see. You stole it,” Krath said with a delighted soft laugh.

  Dulcea crossed her arms. “I resent that. The stone did not belong to anybody! It was the heirloom of the Sraeynian royal house, but they had shown no interest in it in centuries. It was not doing anyone any good just sitting there!”

  “I assume the Council chased you for making off with their precious relic?”

  “They sent people after me, but I evaded them.”

  “And then you spoke to the dragons, and the rest, as they say, is history?”

  “You make it sound like it was child’s play, but I assure you it was not. It took many months to convince the Golden Clan to listen to me.”

  “Can you speak with your dragons without the dragonstone?”

  She frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, could you speak to them right now even though they are far away?”

  Dulcea pursed her lips. It was a logical question, and she understood his worry.

  “No. That is what the stone is for, isn’t it—to contact the dragons from afar? I cannot contact them without it. I cannot call them to come and rescue me from here, if that is what you are thinking.”

  The vampire sat back in his chair, resting his chin in the crook of his thumb and index finger, his brow creasing in thought. Dulcea found his sudden silence alarming. She wondered if he was considering becoming a dragonlord himself. Was that even possible for vampires? If so, he would have to retrieve the stone from the Saruseans first, and then kill her to take control of the stone’s powers. Dulcea feared none of that would trouble his conscience.

  Would the Adegan Clan listen to him? She supposed it depended on what he told them to do.