The Moroi Hunters Page 14

  She did, however, note a void in her perception. The blood had the added effect of making him invisible to her vivisense; she could no longer sense his life. I will have to take care. Once Sar-Kyul learned to master that extraordinary sense, he could discover her nature. Fortunately, vivisense, so different from anything to which humans were accustomed, proved difficult for them to master.

  *

  Sar-Kyul felt as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes and ears; that the full subtleties of taste had been revealed. His body felt younger and infused with vigor. Without even considering his ability to do so, he crouched and heaved the slate stone over his head, before dropping it back to ground with a heavy crash.

  *

  In their study of the effects of the blood upon humans, Shayala’s researchers claimed it did not seem to be physically addictive, though a human could come to rely upon the heightened abilities and senses, feeling diminished when not under its effects. Nor did humans appear to suffer aftereffects once the efficacy of the blood had dissipated.

  Abruptly, Sar-Kyul drew his khopeshes and focused upon Shayala, who instinctively drew her own weapons.

  “Fight me,” Sar-Kyul said. When Shayala made no move other than to narrow her eyes, he added, “We have both drunk the blood. Let us test our skill.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he advanced and swung. She brought a blade up to deflect the strike, which was never intended to land, only to compel her to engage in the contest. The two combatants danced and fought, and their clanging blades sent forth sparks like dying fireflies. The sound of the battle attracted onlookers, who initially thought to side with their leader against this newly come woman. Sar-Kyul shouted them off, assuring them that he and Shayala engaged in only a friendly spar.

  Indeed, this human was one of the most skilled opponents she had faced in many years. Briefly, Shayala entertained the thought he might be the equal of Lyan, her deadly spy marshal. Although she dismissed the notion, she did experience a rarely felt emotion: doubt. If this were a real battle, would she indeed be able to defeat him? A slashing attack that cut the skirt of her tunic dress brought Shayala’s full concentration back to the immediacy of the fight. If he struck her with a silver blade, her burnt skin would betray her nature. Forcing from her mind the uncertainty which could become a self-fulfilling belief, she intensified her focus.

  Sar-Kyul matched her pace, showing exhilaration at the abandon of the exchange. The crowd stood awed at the seemingly preternatural display, cheering both combatants and gasping at each swift strike and last-moment parry. Rapt by the performance, none noted the displaced slate or the disturbed ground where the stone had been moved.

  Sar-Kyul and Shayala found themselves separated by several paces. By some unspoken agreement, both understood their contest was at an end. They sheathed their blades and stood for several moments, their gazes locked. Some in the crowd groaned in disappointment to see the battle concluded; others stood in dazzled silence; still others exclaimed loudly in admiration.

  Sar-Kyul approached Shayala. “I will consider what you have shown me here. Hyular can provide you with quarters to rest.”

  Pulling forth the last vial, Shayala extended it.

  Sar-Kyul accepted the vial and, with a nod to Shayala and another to the crowd, started toward his pavilion.

  Some onlookers followed Sar-Kyul with their shouted questions; although he refused to answer, he promised he would speak at a later time. Others attempted to engage Shayala with their queries, but she ignored them all and walked away without so much as a word.

  Day 13: Light

  Although the morning was not yet in full, the enlivening sky drew the humans from their tents, bringing with them the sounds of daily routines, joining with the birdsong and waking calls of animals.

  Shayala had not fed in a day and would soon begin experiencing the effects of malnourishment. Disappearing anyone from the camp is too precarious, she thought. Rather, she would travel to the moroi’s lair to feed, for she had need to send a message.

  She ventured casually toward the eastern edge of the encampment. Yet before she could find the solitude of the forest, the odious, meddlesome guard who had greeted her upon arrival marked her approach.

  “And where’re you goin’, lovely?” Dorn asked.

  Shayala deigned not to answer, refusing to even glance in his direction, and continued in her course from the camp.

  Enraged, Dorn hastened to block her path with his broad form. Shayala considered simply knocking him aside but, deciding such attention would not serve her, stopped before the man. With his hand upon the pommel of his sword and his chest puffed out, he said slowly, emphasizing each word, “I said, ‘Where’re you goin’?’”

  “If that were your concern, be assured, you would know.”

  Dorn leaned in slightly and, with lusty malice, said, “Such a vile tongue in such a pretty mouth.” He licked his lips and began to draw his seax from its scabbard.

  Shayala could tolerate no more. As if in acquiescence, she drooped her shoulders, attempting to shape her visage into one of fearfulness, though she doubted she could mimic such an emotion. “How can I apologize?”

  With a lascivious smile, the guard gripped her arm and propelled her forward. “This’ll be the first of many apologies,” said he as he fell into step behind her.

  Shayala led him beyond the range of the tree-emplaced sentries before turning to face him. He grasped her arms to force her to the ground but found her as immovable as the surrounding trees. With inhuman speed and strength, Shayala shot a gloved hand beneath his jaw and pressed him against a tree. With her other hand, she pulled his sword from its scabbard and tossed it aside, then broke the buckle of his leather gorget, dropping the armor at his feet.

  Dorn pummeled her arms and chest and face in a desperate flurry. With relish, she clamped her fangs into his neck and began to feed. In moments, as his strength flowed from him along with his blood, he ceased his struggles.

  She savored the violence and the smell of his fear and the taste of his blood, venting her anger with the feral humans upon this one wretched specimen. Once sated, Shayala removed a glove and tore his throat. She hefted him over a shoulder and ran some distance east of the camp, where she unceremoniously dropped the body. Without another thought, she made for the lair.

  Reaching the hillock without incident, pausing only to wash the blood from her hand in a rivulet and redon her glove, she entered the grotto. The human male cowered in the corner, glowering at the other strigoi feeding upon the bound human female. The feeding strigoi looked up, teeth reddened and blood dribbling down her chin. The muskiness from Shayala’s feeding mingled with hers and the unwashed odor of the human. The only illumination was a sliver of light penetrating but to the entrance of the inner cavern.

  Without greeting or introduction, Shayala retrieved the charcoal pen and a sheet of vellum from the haversack. Using a pre-established cypher, she penned:

  Anon, I shall have my biting retribution. All remaining here are humans in camps, which moved to the west from lands surrounding our mines, and even some to a vast stone quarry that yields marble and granite enough for all members of the ruža vlajna. I shall force prisoners in the west to gold and silver mines that yield excess from their depths, and these shall someday soon begin the process of creating weapons against the nosferatu and the moroi, and will make humans bleed, which will force them from their camps into areas of forest. Silver weapons and gold containers in the markets of the south will, one day, bring one ounce for each silver.

  Drafting an appropriate message for the cypher took some time. As she wrote, strigoi and human alike observed her with curious looks, unsure what to expect.

  Once completed, Shayala rolled the vellum and tied it with a length of rope. Lest the missive were seized by opposing parties, it contained no salutation or valediction, nor did she affix her insigne; the cipher itself would serve as proof of its origin. She handed it to the other strigoi and instructed
, “You will deliver this letter to only Lyan. Whether through action, omission, or spoken or written word, you shall neither reveal the content of the letter, nor shall you allow the content of this letter to be revealed other than to Lyan or her confirmed proxy. If it becomes likely to come into the possession of any other, you shall destroy the letter. Understood?”

  The recent strigoi nodded and Shayala continued, “You will await the response, then return here with it. You shall treat the response in the same manner as this message. Understood?”

  The other again nodded. Shayala resumed, “Travel east until you reach the major river flowing from the Southern Inland Mountains and forming the western border of the Court. Follow the river south, upstream, until you reach an arch bridge with a stone sculpture in the form of a dracosphinx sejant—seated—on either side of its span. Cross this bridge into the Court, and less than a mile down the road is a single-story stone structure. This is where you will wait. Set fire to a patch of brush outside of the structure to alert your contact. Understood?”

  “Yes, but how will I know the contact?”

  “You will greet her with the statement, ‘State your purpose.’ To which she will respond, ‘I serve the night.’ Destroy anyone who does not answer appropriately.

  “You will leave as soon as the night dawns. Do not tarry in your journey or in return. Once returned, place some brush atop the stone outcropping above this grotto and set it alight to signal me. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “And me?” asked the human male.

  Shayala took a menacing step toward him. “You will be silent until I give you instructions.”

  While making ready to depart, Shayala glanced at the bound human female. To the other strigoi, said she, “If you intend for your food source to remain viable, I suggest you feed it.”

  *****

  Summoned by Sar-Kyul for an excursion into the forest, Aya and a fellow Moroi Hunter stood beneath the broad, leafy cover of an elm. The sun had completed half its circuit across the sky, and warming light filtered through the canopy. The air was still and redolent with sharp, fresh scents of thick vegetation. Squirrels pattered across branches and rustled leaves while birds chirped and twittered.

  In the midday warmth, Aya had replaced her woolen tunic with a black jerkin and her leggings with baggy trousers of wood brown. Upon her belt, she bore a forward-slanting shortsword called a kopis; her baldric sheathed assorted knives and daggers.

  Her companion was a sturdy man, though not as large as Sar-Kyul. A long blond ponytail and squared goatee gave a roguishness to his appearance. His high black moccasins, black trousers, and forest green tunic showed signs of wear. A scimitar and buckler were affixed to his belt.

  Sar-Kyul stood opposite the two. His loose, open russet shirt exposed his crinose chest and eyetooth necklace. He wore dark gray trousers and black boots, khopeshes at his waist. In his hand, he held a silver flacon.

  “Aya, Ryz’k,” Sar-Kyul began with a hint of suppressed excitement, “I have asked you here to demonstrate a new weapon against the monsters.” Without further explanation, he uncorked the vial and swallowed its contents, reflexively grimacing at the taste. Although he was better prepared for the effects this time, still he was struck by the revitalizing sensation that spread throughout his body. His senses expanded and cleared as if he had been suffering from an illness that spontaneously resolved. He took a moment to acclimate to the barrage of sounds and smells and visual details. Although he experienced a surge of vivisensory input from the surrounding life of the forest, Aya and Ryz’k were distinct among that abundance of life.

  Sar-Kyul moved toward a fallen trunk. With straining effort, he managed to lift the lower end before dropping it with a crash, sending nearby forest-dwellers scampering and flying in a cacophony of angry squeaks and screeches. Aya and Ryz’k unleashed stunned gasps, and Sar-Kyul could hear the quickening of their heartrates and smell a slight increase in their perspiration.

  Without knowing for certain he could accomplish the feat, he made a standing leap to grab a bough nearly twenty feet above his head. He grasped the branch and hung for several moments before releasing his hold to land easily upon the forest floor.

  “What sorcery is this?” Aya asked with raised brows and wide eyes.

  With a satisfied smile, Sar-Kyul answered, “It was provided by our visitor, Shenla. But that is not all.” His grin widened. “Engage me.” Seeing her perplexed expression, Sar-Kyul explained, “Do not worry. Draw and attack me.”

  Still confused, Aya hesitantly drew her kopis. She stepped toward Sar-Kyul and offered a half-hearted swing at his left flank. In his heightened state, Sar-Kyul observed the blade’s approach. Once it traveled three quarters of the distance toward him, he drew a khopesh and deflected the strike. He pivoted, drawing his second blade as he turned, and stopped with the edge of the blade against her neck.

  Aya glanced at the blade, mere inches away.

  Grinning, Sar-Kyul withdrew his weapon and addressed Ryz’k. “Perhaps you would care to try.”

  With open misgivings, Ryz’k shrugged, slid his small shield upon his left arm, and drew his scimitar. Aya stepped away to observe.

  With shield raised, Ryz’k stalked Sar-Kyul, who stood with swords in hand but arms lowered. Once within striking distance, Ryz’k stepped to his left to circle his opponent, then brought his curved blade into a horizontal backslash.

  Aya flinched.

  Sar-Kyul flipped a blade upward to parry the strike. He stepped forward and dropped his other blade. With barely any effort, he shoved Ryz’k to the forest floor.

  Aya released a surprised yelp.

  As he looked at Sar-Kyul from his supine position, embarrassment and anger flushed even Ryz’k’s sun-touched complexion. He scrambled to his feet, prepared to salve his pride by launching another attack. The reek of Ryz’k’s hostility was as clear to Sar-Kyul as his expression.

  Before the other could renew his attack, Sar-Kyul said in a calm and reassuring tone, “Ryz’k, that is enough. The point is made.”

  Ryz’k’s chest heaved from fervor rather than fatigue. With heavy breaths, he put up his sword and forced his mind to calm.

  “With this weapon, think of the damage we could inflict upon the monsters,” Sar-Kyul said with growing passion as he imagined cutting through a swath of the creatures.

  “You put too much trust in someone you do not know,” Ryz’k accused. “What do you even know of this stranger?”

  “She brings hope,” Sar-Kyul responded. “We have been too long complacent. Even with the recent frequency of the monsters’ raids, we have forgotten the imminent threat they pose.”

  Ryz’k shook his head. “No one is unaware of the threat. We have fended them off and continue to survive.”

  “I tire of hiding and cowering, like mice before a cat,” Sar-Kyul replied. “They should fear us!”

  Ryz’k scoffed. “Because of that potion?”

  “Yes! You cannot know its effects until you have tried it yourself. You think you know the world around you, but there is so much more.”

  “And just what is the potion?” Ryz’k asked.

  At that moment, two warriors came upon the trio, calling, “Sar-Kyul! Sar-Kyul!”

  “Yes? Speak.”

  One warrior, straight sword in his hand, spoke. “Dorn. Discovered. Dead. Throat torn.”

  Despite the disjointedness of his speech, the gist was clear. Aya’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. Ryz’k gripped the handle of his blade, eager for a battle to release his aggression.

  Sar-Kyul said with some impatience, “Calm yourself and explain.”

  The second warrior spoke. “Dorn had gone missing from his post. We dispatched a search party, who found his body with his throat torn. The remains of Noar, who had transformed into a monster and been destroyed by the light, were also discovered. They have been moved to the camp.”

  “Show me,” Sar-Kyul instructed. Followed by Aya and Ryz’k, the par
ty started for the encampment.

  Day 14: Night

  When Shayala returned to the Moroi Hunters, the tribe was engaged in a minor uproar, accompanied by the general din of excited activity, uncommon for the lateness of the hour. Two guards stopped her upon her approach.

  “We are to escort you to Sar-Kyul,” said one.

  “I am quite capable of finding him myself,” Shayala replied without emotion.

  “We have instructions to take you to him,” said the second. Both nervously wrung their hands upon the pommels of their swords. The tale of her bout against Sar-Kyul had spread throughout the camp.

  The salty smell of their unease was tangy. Shayala merely scoffed.

  The first guard cleared his throat, extending his hand. “Your swords.”

  Shayala glared.

  At her hesitation, both humans gripped their sword hilts firmly. More concerned she would have to begin again her charade with another tribe than she was for her life, Shayala relented, passing her scabbarded swords to the first guard. If the need arose, she could always kill them and reclaim her blades.

  “Any other weapons?” asked the second guard.

  Shayala glared once more and fought to keep her rising anger in check. One hundred years at the apex of power and of regarding humans as chattel was not easily undone, regardless of the consequences.

  The same guard tentatively approached her. “I must search you.”

  Shayala said nothing, though neither did she strike out when the guard began to frisk her. Rather, she remained still, with as much dignity as she could muster against such provocation. No, this over-caution on their part has some purpose.

  The guard discovered her stilettoes and, upon removing them from her boots, tucked them into his belt. As she was now disarmed, the guards’ nervousness faded and they grew more decisive.