The Moroi Hunters Page 13

  Upon the command of Sar-Kyul, the party moved into the dense forest. Although the moon was full, its light did not much penetrate the leafy canopy. As their intention was to attract the monsters, the warriors spoke freely and without concern for the blare of their conversation. Paying scant attention to the boughs or ground, they kept their eyes trained upon the undergrowth around them.

  Distant hoots, chirrups, trills, and howls sounded throughout the forest. And among the infrequent screeches of bats, Shayala could discern other vocalizations that were well beyond the ken of the humans.

  “I see you found a replacement tunic and a fine jerkin,” Sar-Kyul commented, glancing at Shayala’s attire.

  Shayala replied, “I’m here for a purpose, not for fashion.”

  Sar-Kyul laughed. “Have you participated in such a hunt?”

  Shayala nodded.

  “Good. Fighting another human is one thing, but intentionally seeking out the monsters is altogether different. I have seen otherwise fEarlress warriors lose their mettle when faced by those creatures.”

  When Shayala did not speak, the leader looked at her again. “Tell me of your journey west.”

  Shayala offered no immediate response as the party traversed a rocky brook. Upon reaching the opposite bank, where a clearing allowed the moonlight to reach the forest floor, she began, “There isn’t much to tell. We skirted the southern foothills of the Northern Mountains. Traveling north of the mountains would have increased the time of our journey by too much. Once past the mountains, we turned south, through the forest. We encountered several other tribes and, from them, learned your location. Our plan was to gain the assistance of the most powerful tribe first.”

  The compliment was not lost upon the human leader, though he chose not to acknowledge it. “You say ’we.’ Did others travel with you?”

  “We were three, though I was the only one to survive the journey.”

  “The monsters?”

  Shayala nodded.

  “That is a tragic loss.” Sar-Kyul appeared genuinely sympathetic. “And your tribe sent you to enlist allies?”

  Again, Shayala nodded. “They sent those of us who had the best chance of surviving the journey.”

  Shayala could smell and hear the beasts long before the humans had any inkling of their coming, though she raised no alarm. The only warning the humans had was an approaching howling, followed by a heavy rustling that preceded the coming herd. Deer, a coyote, a boar, and a frantic diaspora of small mammals charged through a thicket, amidst a spray of leaves and twigs.

  The path of the tusked swine led directly toward Shayala. It swerved to its right, angling toward Sar-Kyul. He dropped the fowl and drew his swords, leveling them at the charging beast and prepared to leap away.

  As it passed, Shayala impaled the swine in its flank with one sword, then with the other even as she retracted the first. Although the beast’s charge carried it forward, its path now veered from Sar-Kyul. Other humans shouted and scattered before it. The tusk impaled the leg of a leaping warrior, shattering bone and ripping skin and muscle. The warrior howled.

  Shayala descended upon the boar, which thrashed its head and tore its tusk from the warrior’s leg. She thrust a blade into the animal’s skull. In its wounded, pain-wracked state, the boar tried to turn. Yet she was faster, stabbing repeatedly into its brain as she circled away. Its strength gone, the beast dropped and lay still, squealing softly as it slowly died.

  As others moved to see to the injured warrior, Sar-Kyul, his thoughts jumbled, looked at Shayala. “You saved me. I’ve never seen such skill. Why would it veer from you?”

  Before she was forced to answer, a shout from her left penetrated the night. Sar-Kyul and Shayala ran toward the ruckus. The cause of the animal exodus became apparent: nosferatu. A hunter was trapped beneath one of the feral creatures tearing at his throat. Shayala began to advance, but Sar-Kyul held her back with an extended arm. “Observe.”

  A male warrior tossed one edge of an argent mesh to a warrioress, and together they threw it upon the nosferatu. Wherever the mesh touched the creature, it sizzled and burned, and its howl echoed into the night.

  At that moment, another nosferatu burst through the underbrush, colliding with the man holding the mesh and dropping atop him. A third nosferatu charged Sar-Kyul and Shayala, who both held weapons in hand and prepared for the attack. All three wore the tattered, rotted remnants of garments, indicative of those whose transformation had occurred some time ago and who had holed up in hollows, grottoes, or other lightless dens.

  Likely also resultant from my ordered raids, Shayala thought.

  “Do not destroy it,” Sar-Kyul instructed Shayala. “Just keep it occupied until it can be subdued.”

  The entangled nosferatu stood, despite being seared by the mesh, and lunged toward the female still holding it. She released the mesh and stumbled backward, falling. A warrior stabbed the ensnared nosferatu through the back with a harpoon, preventing it from reaching the woman. Another warrior used a spiked crook to pry the second nosferatu by its neck from atop the fallen man.

  Others took up the loose mesh, swept it beneath the harpooned creature, and cinched it closed. Still others threw another silvered net atop the second nosferatu, and this creature, too, was soon subdued.

  Sar-Kyul and Shayala moved to opposite sides of the third creature, attacking to keep it distracted. Two more humans entangled the creature in a third argent mesh. Its pained howling joined that of the others.

  Sar-Kyul looked to Shayala. “I’m favorably impressed. You didn’t shrink away at all but moved to face the monster.”

  “Fighting and death are a way of life,” Shayala replied.

  Sar-Kyul moved to inspect the bodies of the fallen warriors as the others formed an outward-facing circle around their leader, the bodies, and the captured nosferatu. The throat of the first fallen human was ravaged, his spine visible through the ruin of his neck.

  The fragrance of the bloodshed was alluring to Shayala, raising within her pangs of hunger, a growing ache that could be denied for only so long. She moved away some small distance upwind to diminish the sharpness of the scent.

  Gesturing toward two warriors, Sar-Kyul ordered, “Bring him.” The two griped the body by its arms and raised it between them. The head, nearly severed from the neck, lolled downward and hung from the body.

  The second warrior who had fallen against the nosferatu still lived, though was mortally wounded. Coughing up blood, he struggled to say, “Finish me.”

  Sar-Kyul judged the warrior would not survive the trip back to camp and did not wish to prolong the man’s suffering. “You die with honor, in service to your tribe,” he offered before plunging a khopesh into the dying man’s heart. Without instruction, two warriors took him up, though Sar-Kyul added, “Bring the boar as well.”

  While others lifted the dead warrior between them, several humans prepared a suitable branch on which to carry the swine. They lashed the legs of the animal carcass to the pole and, with a grunt, hoisted the bough to their shoulders.

  During the return trek, the shared elation at a successful hunt was suppressed beneath the solemnity of loss. Reaching the camp, the tribe mirrored their emotions: initial congratulations, soon replaced by condolences for the fallen. One sentiment neither affected nor restrained was hatred for the captured creatures. As they were dragged behind their captors, the nosferatu were cursed, spat upon, and prodded with silver implements.

  The two deceased were taken to be burned upon the pyre while Sar-Kyul and others looked on. The enmeshed prisoners were dragged deeper into the camp.

  As the bodies burned, Shayala stood near the leader, among a group of silent onlookers. Sar-Kyul motioned to Shayala. “Come. Now I will show you what purpose we make of the monsters. These hunts are not just for the sake of slaking our vengeance.”

  He led her to the guarded, ridged tent she had previously inquired about to Hyular. Four bored, tired guards—are they different from t
he ones I saw before?—stood at the entrance. She could already scent the tent’s contents: silver and nosferatu. Within were five small cages, four of which were occupied by a growling, pain-frenzied nosferatu.

  Although strigoi routinely made sport of nosferatu, they were still of the ruža vlajna, and such treatment by humans was a visceral affront to Shayala, much as Sar-Kyul’s trophies had been. The pride and satisfaction beaming from the face of Sar-Kyul only compounded the offense. Nevertheless, Shayala reminded herself of the humans’ necessary role in her design; she sublimated the immediate urge to lash into the conviction of achieving her greater goal. They will yet face punishment.

  Sar-Kyul turned his attention from the captives to Shayala. “To defeat our enemy, we must understand and exploit their strengths and weaknesses, and so we study them.”

  For their sheer delight, two humans tormented one of the new prisoners by repeatedly piercing it with silver-bladed rapiers. One stabbed his rapier through the eye of the creature, eliciting a fit of pain.

  Sar-Kyul said, “Dakryr, I have no objection to some play. But take care you do not damage them too much. We still have need of them.” To Shayala, “We endeavor to learn what materials or substances are harmful or lethal to them.”

  With a knowing look, Sar-Kyul approached a nosferatu that had been encaged previously and opened a small cut in his own finger with a dagger. He held his hand over the creature and allowed several drops of his blood to fall into its waiting mouth. In mere moments, its growling ceased and it fell into a silent seizure. It shook violently, then fell still.

  Shayala looked upon Sar-Kyul—a dhampyr, she now knew—with horror, which she hoped he mistook for astonishment. She had seen the effects of such noxious blood once before, upon her predecessor, King Thyse, but to see a human so casually execute a ruža vlajna in such a manner was jarring and appalling.

  A dhampyr—half-strigoi, half-human—could be created in several ways. A human male who was bitten but not killed by a strigoi, would, were he to impregnate a human female, sire a dhampyr. Alternatively, a human female likewise bitten, and who was already pregnant or subsequently became pregnant, would birth a dhampyr. The danger of engendering such a creature led to the strigoiic proscription on bestiality, as it resulted in a human capable of begetting a dhampyr. And afflicting a human through intercourse was doubly troubling, for, without the telltale punctures from feeding, no obvious sign would inform of such a possibility.

  Because of the existential threat to the strigoi if their food supply were to be contaminated with such blood, many laws and practices, as against bestiality, had been developed to safeguard the potability of humans. Another such example was the strict segregation of chattel used for feeding from those used as breeding stock. Intermingling the two could lead to the creation and proliferation of such creatures; thus, on threat of destruction, humans were permitted to mate under only the most stringent husbandry.

  This was a dangerous human.

  “You are a dhampyr.” Shayala said in a voice that would have sounded breathless if she. in fact. breathed.

  “Several generations removed,” he replied with a pride that seemed to conceal an underlying embarrassment. “I was told my third mother was with child when she was bitten by a monster, though she survived to birth my second father.” With intensity in his brown eyes, said he, “Even in my death, at least I will take one of the foul creatures with me.”

  Shayala now faced a dilemma that could determine the outcome of her gambit, decades in the making. Should she provide this human the means to overcome the strigoi of the Court, or should she kill him and find another who would not prove so threatening?

  Correctly interpreting the indecision in Shayala’s expression but misconstruing its cause, Sar-Kyul added, “I enjoy some measure of increased strength and speed, but I do not suffer from the monsters’ vile nature. Early generations do experience a greater degree of bloodthirst, though they do not require blood for survival.” In a hushed voice, he continued, “I myself still feel the pangs of the thirst on occasion, but they are not great and soon pass.

  “My heritage is a source of both pride and shame. Although it is known among the Moroi Hunters, it is not so among the other free tribes. Not all would be so accepting of the fact.”

  Accustomed to difficult choices and aware of the decisional paralysis that came with too much consideration, Shayala thought, with sudden clarity, It is the danger he poses that makes him so well suited to my purpose; I could not hope for a better instrument. I can control him.

  “I have something to give you,” Shayala said.

  “Oh?” Sar-Kyul was clearly intrigued.

  “Come,” Shayala said.

  Sar-Kyul followed Shayala to a plaza, which they had passed on their approach to the ridged tent. As most had retired to their tents, the camp was quiet.

  Shayala retrieved the three silver vials from her pouch, selecting one with a small notch cut into its cork stopper. Although the vial was empty, she raised it to her mouth, careful to keep a gloved finger on the brim as she pretended to imbibe its contents. Were the vial filled with the same substance as its counterparts, she would have found the contents distasteful but not harmful.

  She replaced the vial and, without further explanation, reached down and hefted a boulder of brown slate. Agitated insects scurried away at the disturbance. Even with her superlative strength, she strained to lift the massive rock, though that did nothing to diminish the wonder of her achievement in the eyes of the human. She brought the stone level with her chest, then dropped it to the ground.

  “How…how is it possible?” Sar-Kyul was wide-eyed and awestruck.

  “What I tell you now is a secret we learned among the eastern tribes.” She withdrew another vial from her pouch and handed it to the human. “This is blood from the creatures. It grants the drinker enhanced strength and speed and senses.”

  Looking as if he would hurl the vial far from him, Sar-Kyul’s amazement was swept away by shock and repugnance.

  “What corruption is this?” Sar-Kyul spat. He dropped the vial as if it had bitten him and drew a weapon.

  Have I erred in revealing the source of the blood? Shayala was less fearful for her life than for the collapse of her plan. Perhaps I revealed the source too soon, though without the knowledge the feral humans could not obtain more blood on their own. Hoping to prevent an escalation of tension, she did not draw her blade. “You study the creatures to learn their weaknesses. Why not use their own strength against them?”

  “And become one! Never!” His voice began to elevate as he imagined the horrible consequences of drinking the blood and considered the debased nature of one who did. He shook from the indecision of whether or not to strike.

  He is becoming irrational. I must put his fears to rest quickly, before he attacks and this whole endeavor is jeopardized. Shayala said, “Think. Am I one of them? I have drunk their fluid many times. How do you think I survived my journey? It is the creatures’ saliva which transmits their affliction, not their blood. We suffer no ill effects from its consumption.”

  This argument seemed to penetrate Sar-Kyul’s growing unreason, for he lowered his blade, though he did not rescabbard it.

  Shayala continued, “This is an invaluable weapon against the creatures. Do not be blinded by fear. Victory requires bold action.”

  Sar-Kyul stood silent for many moments. Finally, he asked, “How can I be sure of no ill effects?”

  “I have only myself as proof.” As she spoke, Shayala realized she did not know how it would affect one of his heritage. Ah, well, the arrow is shot.

  “How long do the effects last?”

  “For but one turn of a sand-glass, though they can be renewed with additional blood. Eight drams are required to experience any effect, but the more imbibed, the more potent.”

  Sar-Kyul crouched, retrieved the vial from the dirt, and simply stared at it in hand. At this act, Shayala hoped his curiosity would prevail in its intern
al battle against his fear.

  *

  This could completely change the balance of power, Sar-Kyul thought. Give us a real hope of defending against the monsters’ incursions. Would I give my life for such an advantage? The answer to that was unquestionable.

  Before he could change his mind, Sar-Kyul removed the stopper and downed the sluggish red liquid within. He coughed and nearly gagged upon the sour fluid, though he forced himself to swallow; to his surprise, it did not taste of metal.

  The effects were immediate. Sar-Kyul’s head jerked upward; he turned slowly, looking and smelling about him with invigorated perception, as if he had always perceived with wine-dulled senses. Even the dregs of the blood that still coated the interior of his mouth tasted differently than a moment before, as if he could differentiate each distinct acidic, chalky, and sulfurous flavor within the blood.

  His head spun to the right when he heard a swishing sound; it was only the flutter of a fly’s wings. Focusing upon that fly, he could observe the rapid beating of its wings with keener detail. He inhaled deeply of a wildflower that had grown at the base of the boulder. Its fragrance contained so many undertones of scents that, rather than simply having a more potent odor, he barely recognized its smell.

  *

  “I feel a tingling, like an itching in my brain,” Sar-Kyul said, exhibiting a confused awe. “It’s not painful or uncomfortable, but it is unsettling and nearly overwhelming.”

  “We call it vivisense,” Shayala explained. “The perception of living beings, though not plant life. Str—the creatures are similarly invisible to its perception. It is unimpeded by any physical barrier. The distribution of tingling in your head is based on the arrangement of life around you. You are surrounded by thousands of others, so it’s not surprising you would feel overwhelmed until you learn to focus your perception.”

  If she were able, Shayala would have sighed in relief. His dhampyric heritage had not caused an adverse reaction to the blood.