The Moroi Hunters Read online

  The first guard produced a segment of rope from a belt pouch. “Your wrists.”

  Shayala’s thoughts came in a blur as she tried to understand what had occurred in her brief absence. She did not believe the humans could have discerned her nature. Could Sar-Kyul have concluded the consumption of ruža vlajnan blood was beyond the limits of acceptability? Possible, though unlikely, considering his seeming approval of its use. No, most likely, the dead guard has been discovered.

  She had to decide her course quickly; delay would surely lead to an irreparable confrontation. Despite the indignity, she could conceive of only a single alternative if she was to salvage the situation. How far have I fallen to be so dependent upon feral humans?

  She extended her arms, wrists together. Her body nearly rebelled against the action, and she exerted all her will to force it to obey.

  The guard exhaled as he bound her wrists, before both humans led her into the camp proper.

  Shayala, again the cynosure of scrutiny, did not this time inspire awe or interest but curious suspicion. A brisk walk, with one guard before her and one behind, brought the trio to Sar-Kyul’s pavilion. Even as they approached, Shayala overheard a heated discussion, centered on her guilt in the death of Dorn and her revelation of the effects of strigoiic blood. Without announcement, the guards bore her into the pavilion, where the three occupants abruptly ended their conversation. Again, Shayala’s eyes were drawn to the bodiless heads of the nosferatu dangling from the ceiling; still galled by her treatment by the guards, the sight of those trophies only increased her ire.

  Sar-Kyul faced the entrance; Aya and a human male, whom Shayala did not know, had their backs to her. As the male turned, his tanned visage was locked into a scowl, and his glowering eyes followed her movement. All three wore mantles against the slight chill.

  Sar-Kyul nodded to the guards, who fell back to either side of the entrance but remained within. Her posture and expression challenging, Shayala stood silently, awaiting an explanation, staring at Sar-Kyul.

  Sar-Kyul nodded in the direction of the guards. “I apologize for the welcome. You know Aya. And this is Ryz’k.” Sar-Kyul paused as if he were about to say something more. After a moment, he continued, “You were gone all day.”

  It was not a question and Shayala did not bother responding.

  “Where were you?”

  “That is no one’s concern but my own.” Although she possessed a ready answer, she could not countenance answering to a human, and irritation crept into her voice.

  Again, Sar-Kyul paused. “I ask for a purpose. Dorn is dead.”

  Shayala scoffed.

  “You were seen with him this morning.” It was not quite an accusation, but Shayala could smell his sweat and hear his quickening heartrate.

  Barely able to keep the revulsion from her voice, Shayala lied, “I laid with him this morning.”

  Sar-Kyul stood straighter, though Shayala could not ascertain whether the explanation had relieved the human or further agitated him.

  “You laid with him?” Aya asked with unmistakable incredulity.

  Shifting her gaze from Sar-Kyul to the female warrior, Shayala shrugged.

  With a wry smile, which was part grin, part grimace, Aya asked, “But Dorn?”

  Unemotionally, Shayala continued the deception, “He was an annoyance, and I thought rather than killing him, he would lose interest if I offered what he wanted.”

  “He is dead and you joke about killing him?” Ryz’k said, speaking for the first time.

  Again, Shayala shrugged. “No woman would brag about bedding him.”

  Despite herself, Aya snickered and smiled, while Sar-Kyul remained silently pensive.

  In a gruff, suspicious manner, Ryz’k asked, “And where did you go after leaving Dorn?”

  All looked at her expectantly.

  Shayala looked to each human in turn, finally settling upon Sar-Kyul. She detected that his heartrate had slowed and his perspiration lessened. Shifting to the truth, said she, “I had to arrange for more of the blood.”

  From the condemnatory look Ryz’k gave her, she knew he had been told whence the blood came. Aya, however, looked more frightened than angry or disgusted.

  Ryz’k gripped the handle of his scimitar and took a step toward Shayala. “You should be put to death for your abomination.”

  Sar-Kyul grasped Ryz’k’s arm and, with some effort, restrained the warrior.

  The guards at the door tensed. Shayala remained calm through the brief exchange, confident in her ability to rend her bindings, should she need to. Ryz’k jerked his arm from Sar’Kyul’s grasp.

  “Let us conclude one discussion before we begin another,” Sar-Kyul offered in conciliation. “The matter of Dorn’s death is the immediate concern.”

  With a voice like dripping venom, Ryz’k began his argument again. “I’ve no doubt she is responsible for Dorn’s death. And it is no coincidence she arrived following an attack upon the camp, bringing the blood of the monsters.”

  “You cannot believe she was the cause of the attack,” Aya countered.

  “I know not how she accomplished it,” Ryz’k admitted. “Maybe she is in league with them. But the timing cannot be chance.”

  “In league with the monsters?” Aya said skeptically. “How can one ally with unthinking creatures?”

  Too angry to compose his thoughts, Ryz’k offered only a silent glare. As long as Aya was willing to argue on her behalf, Shayala was content to remain silent.

  Aya addressed Sar-Kyul. “The wound upon Dorn’s neck was obviously caused by a feeding nosferatu. We discovered the clothing and charred remains of Noar, banished but two nights ago. She was likely the offender. And Shenla has provided an explanation for her whereabouts.”

  “Ryz’k, the timing is consistent,” Sar-Kyul began, convinced by Aya’s reasoning and, perhaps, by his own desire to disbelieve Shenla’s involvement. “Noar was banished the night of the attack. She likely died shortly after. Her body would have risen a day later. Shenla was sighted with Dorn before the sun fully lit the sky. Noar could have risen, fed upon Dorn, then fallen under the sun’s light.”

  “It was fortunate for her, then, that Dorn finished quickly,” Ryz’k replied with accusatory sardonicism. Seeming far from convinced, Ryz’k offered only a dissatisfied grunt.

  “It saddens us all that Dorn was lost because Noar’s cowardice led her to choose a dishonorable death,” Sar-Kyul offered consolingly.

  Ryz’k shifted the focus of his argument to, in his opinion, the greater concern. “There still remains her attempt to poison us.”

  “Poison?” Shayala asked.

  “Yes!”

  “I have sampled it twice and have suffered no ill effects,” Sar-Kyul said.

  “And do not think your involvement will be forgotten.” Ryz’k returned.

  Sar-Kyul narrowed his eyes at the implied threat.

  “The aftereffects may simply be delayed. Whatever her sinister purpose, it will prove disastrous for us.” Ryz’k’s voice grew louder with his pique.

  Sar-Kyul dismissed the two guards but instructed them to relinquish Shayala’a weapons, which they placed upon the ground. Although Sar-Kyul knew the guards would gossip with what little they had heard, he did not wish too many of the details to be widely known among the tribe.

  “Again, I apologize,” Sar-Kyul said, retrieving a knife from the table. “But we had to take every precaution.”

  Shayala eyed his approach; he noticed her wary gaze and moved with care to grasp her wrist. Despite Ryz’k’s protests, he cut her bindings.

  Sar-Kyul suggested, “Shenla, perhaps you should complete your tale.”

  Shayala retrieved her swords and stilettoes before continuing. “The secret of the blood was discovered long ago by my people. No one recalls how this discovery was made.” She ignored Ryz’k’s disgusted grunt. “When the raids by the thinking creatures became more frequent, we were too few to overcome them, even with the blood. Thus
we decided to risk all on a gambit. While I and others were dispatched as emissaries to form an alliance of the fe—free tribes, many of our people voluntarily submitted to the rule of the creatures, that they might fight from within.”

  Aya looked at her open-mouthed.

  Ryz’k scoffed, asked, “An alliance? You propose to attack the monsters?” With a sarcastic smile, he added, “It seems we now know the consequence of the blood: madness.”

  “With an alliance of all the tribes and the advantage I can provide, it can be done,” Shayala countered. “To secure the alliance, I can arrange for a supply of silver weapons and blood for thousands.”

  “How so?” Aya asked.

  “My people have been amassing them for some time.”

  “Where are these caches? How can you transport them?” Ryz’k asked in his confrontational manner, thinking that he had found a flaw in her absurd proposal.

  “We have established a network among the chat—the enslaved humans and have caches hidden throughout the Court.” Shayala observed Ryz’k’s scrutinizing look at her lapse; that was her second near misspeech. I must be more careful.

  “Impossible!” Ryz’k objected.

  “Not so. This has been long planned, and we lack only the numbers to strike. The last of my people are embedded within the Court of the creatures and can provide invaluable intelligence, even facilitate access into the castle.”

  “We do not know how many of the monsters even exist,” Aya said. In contrast to Ryz’k’s search for fault, her tone was probing and dispassionate. “Even if our total numbers surpass theirs, can all the tribes together claim more than five thousand warriors?”

  “Warriors who will be armed with silver weapons and fortified with the creatures’ own blood,” Shayala countered.

  “If we fail, the monsters will retaliate in force,” Ryz’k protested.

  “If they are able, they will no doubt retaliate,” Sar-Kyul agreed. “However, even if we fail to destroy them utterly, we can inflict enough damage to eliminate their threat, at least for some time to come. Every generation, our numbers are decreasing. In the time of my third father, stories told we were far more numerous. If we do not strike now, it will be only more difficult in the future.”

  Shayala was pleased to see that Sar-Kyul seemed to favor an incursion against the Court and offered a suggestion in support. “To address the threat of retaliation, all non-warriors can leave this area, either northward or across the sea. If we succeed, they can return. If not, they can rebuild elsewhere.”

  “Abandon our lands?” Ryz’k shouted. “Why not simply surrender ourselves to the monsters, like your cowardly people?”

  Shayala’s blade was in her hand faster than the humans could follow, and she was nearly upon Ryz’k before anyone even reacted. Although unarmed, Sar-Kyul moved to block her approach and grasped her sword arm. Ryz’k drew his scimitar. Sar-Kyul was strong, but, if Shayala had desired, she could have easily broken his grip and struck down her antagonist. Yet she was not so far lost behind the red veil of rage that she did not understand such a show of force would raise questions.

  “Stand down,” Sar-Kyul ordered her. His voice was crisp and commanding, carrying with it the suggestion of a threat. “Do not make me regret my leniency.”

  Tense seconds passed. Shayala’s menacing gaze never wavered from the face of Ryz’k before she lowered her weapon hand and scabbarded her blade. Ryz’k continued to smirk.

  Although Sar-Kyul seemed ready to chastise Shayala, he was equally curious about her show of speed. Aya resumed the discussion before he could speak. “Even if the tribes were to depart this land, to the south lie mountains. To the east, the sea. And to the north, barren, rocky terrain.”

  “All true,” Shayala admitted. “The journey would be difficult, the southern route most so, though none are completely inhospitable or impassable.”

  “That need not be decided now,” Sar-Kyul said. “The question before us now is, do we bring this matter before the tribe?”

  “Delay only diminishes our chance of success,” Shayala interjected.

  Ryz’k uttered a dismissive sneer. “We could never hope to persuade the other tribes, let alone organize an army.”

  Aya spoke, choosing to ignore the comments by both Shayala and Ryz’k. “Although I am not convinced of our success, I believe the tribe should have its say.”

  Ryz’k offered only a “Bah!”

  With a tired a sigh, Sar-Kyul said, “Very well, I will speak to the tribe.” He looked pointedly at Ryz’k and added, “For the moment, we should not mention the source of the blood.”

  *****

  Shortly before the sun set, the recently risen strigoi made ready to carry out the instructions given her by Shayala. She fed upon the delirious human female before approaching her male companion to demand the dirk. Despite her transformation, she did not intend to journey unarmed. “Give me the dagger, Azark. I must go.”

  The human looked at the monster before him, trying to picture the face of the woman he once knew, understanding she was something else now. He held the dirk before him, not quite threateningly but not moving to surrender it. “But, Ronla, I’ll be defenseless.”

  Ronla’s lips molded into a frown. “I could take it.” She thought to sigh—a vestigial reaction from her human self—but found she could not perform the exhalation. “But I’d rather not.” Not because of any affection for you, but because I don’t know what plans she has for you. “And if, by some chance, you prevent me from completing my task, what do you think she’ll do?”

  Despite her threat, Ronla remembered her involuntary obedience to Shayala’s command to “be still.” Because of Shayala’s injunction that she “not harm…this human male,” Ronla was uncertain if she could physically compel the human.

  “Ronla, we could flee together,” he pleaded. “You need not obey her.”

  “But I do. I can’t explain the feeling. I have my own thoughts, but if I try to act against her, my body doesn’t respond. Even now, I feel a growing compulsion to leave. If you don’t give me the dagger, I won’t be able to stop myself from taking it.” The compulsion will likely force me to leave, with or without the dagger, but he need not know that.

  Azark sighed and, looking into her eyes, offered her the hilt.

  She took the dagger, slid it into the sheath at her waist, and fled the lair without another word.

  As she ran eastward, she contemplated her new existence, for not yet three days had passed and she was still becoming acquainted with, and accustomed to, this state. She had been emotionally sickened by drinking the blood of another human—no, not “another,” for I am no longer human—but the hunger overwhelming her was more powerful even than the compulsion to obey her mistress. As she ran, she felt no fatigue, no strain or soreness in her legs, no shortness of breath. In fact, until her inability to sigh, she had not considered that she no longer breathed. She found herself accepting the transformation may have been for the best, if only she could free herself from the control of that witch. No sooner had she formed the notion than she became disgusted with herself for not being disgusted with herself. Then the feeling faded, and she again found herself relishing her novel existence.

  So lost in her introspection was she that the sound of flowing water from the Pale River startled her as it came into view. Feeling no effects from the run, Ronla began southward along the grassy bank. The water level had risen as summer approached. As she followed the shore, a subversive thought crept into her mind: perhaps Shayala’s control weakened with distance. She stopped running and smiled. However, when she tried to move westward, she found her body did not comply. Then, without her volition, she resumed southward.

  Ronla yelled in frustration but inexorably continued her journey.

  How could one being exert such control over another? As if speaking the words aloud imbued them with portent and power, she vowed, “I will escape her control.”

  She spotted a bridge in the distance, o
nly to lose sight of it as the river curved and she entered a copse extending to the water’s edge. Upon emerging, still some distance from the bridge, she continued southward without slowing. Not until she had passed the bridge did a realization strike her: Despite the distance and the clouds moving across the waning gibbous moon, she had been able to discern—as clearly as if it were high sun—that the statues flanking the bridge’s western end were not of dracosphinxes.

  That epiphany then led to another revelation: that of the multitude of scents and sounds she could distinguish. She could hear the fish swimming in the river and the burrowing of a snake into the subsoil, smell the passage of some beast as she crossed its trail. Most extraordinary of all, she could perceive the very presence of those animals without evidence from her other senses; she simply knew they were there. The knowledge seemed to correspond to a strange tingling within her skull, first noticed in the presence of Azark and now increased in intensity. Again, without conscious judgment, she began to admire and appreciate the benefits of her new form.

  When she caught sight of another bridge, an arch bridge, she concentrated upon the flanking statues to determine at what point she could distinguish their features. She estimated that, at a quarter mile upon the cloudy night, she could clearly discern the details of the dracosphinxes. Sitting upon their haunches, the beasts possessed aquiline wings; a leonine torso, tail, and legs; and a draconic head and neck. She smiled in triumph. With only a half-hearted attempt to refrain from crossing, she continued across the bridge without slowing. A meandering road extended from the eastern end of the bridge.

  By the time she reached her destination—a windowless, single-story structure of mortared stone—the moon had completed three-quarters of its nightly journey. Ronla found smoke already rising from a small fire behind the building. She opened the wooden door, set against a protective lip of stone. However, unlike the safe houses of the Court, those on the outskirts rarely had transverse corridors as precautions against the light.

  Ronla entered the sparse room, noting two humans chained to the wall. At a wooden table sat a single occupant facing the door.