The Moroi Hunters Read online

  The strigoi at the table had no change of expression and made no move other than to tighten her grip upon the hilt of a falchion. The two took each other’s measure for several moments.

  Suddenly, Ronla blurted, “State your purpose.”

  In an even tone, the strigoi responded, “I serve the night.”

  Both relaxed.

  “I am Lyan. How does she fare among the feral humans?”

  Ronla took a moment to realize to whom “she” referred, yet she did not understand the mention of feral humans. “She is well.” Ronla approached the table. “I’m Ronla.”

  Wholly disinterested in further conversation, Lyan replied, “The message?”

  Ronla drew the rolled velum from a pocket and handed it to Lyan.

  Lyan spread the message upon the table. Each fourth word held the cryptogram: Have all humans moved from mines to quarry and all ruža vlajna prisoners to mines. From these, begin creating nosferatu and bleed them into silver containers of one ounce.

  Upon deciphering its contents, Lyan said, “Tell her, ‘It will be done. We only await her signal to strike.’” Lyan paused. “Also relay to her this message: The enthronement will occur on the next full moon.”

  “That’s all?”

  Lyan raised a pouch beside her chair and set it on the table. The muffled sound of dull clanking could be heard from within. “Ensure she receives this.”

  “What is it?”

  Without answering, Lyan moved toward the door. “I would wait until tomorrow night before you return. It is unlikely you can cover the distance before the sun rises.” Lyan exited the structure, threw the vellum upon the rearward fire, and ran eastward.

  Map: Human Hinterlands

  Part III

  Day 14: Light

  Duke Munar slammed his fist atop the mahogany table, creating a thin crack along the grain of its surface. The presumptive monarch sat at the head of the oval table within the council chamber. Castellan Corvyne, sitting at the duke’s left, started at the outburst, though the figure to Munar’s right showed no reaction.

  “How is it no sign of Lyan can be found?” Munar shouted. His glare passed from Corvyne to Spy Marshal Yah’l. Corvyne averted his gaze uncomfortably, while the latter impassively met the duke’s stare with pupilless, leaden eyes.

  “Your Grace, most villagers do not even believe she exists, that she is merely some sort of fable,” Corvyne commented.

  Munar sneered. “Peasants.”

  “Besides, what relevance is she?” Corvyne asked. “Without the queen, she is powerless.”

  Munar cast a look of utter contempt upon the castellan, as if Corvyne had suggested humans were the equal of strigoi.

  “She is clever and skilled, Your Grace, and her network is impressive,” Yah’l offered, a tinge of respect in his voice. His demeanor was calm and confident, though his eyes reflected a profound cruelty. His goatee, mustache, and hair—all matching his eye color—were kept short, giving him a vulpine aspect. Before Munar could respond, Yah’l continued, “It has not yet been a week. She will be found.”

  “You had best hope so, Spy Marshal,” Munar said in a low voice. “Or rather than execute her, I may recruit her, for my network will hold a vacancy.”

  As if oblivious to the threat, Yah’l made a slight nod. “Your Grace, I did receive a report this morning that Shayala’s renegade guard captain was spotted about the village of Hathaer, near the southern border. Upon sundown, my agents will apprehend her.”

  “Your Grace,” Corvyne began, “as you know, she is incapable of divulging useful information. We should follow her; she may lead us to other traitors.”

  To Corvyne, Munar said, “As usual, you demonstrate your shortsightedness.”

  “She will be caught, Your Grace,” Yah’l acknowledged.

  “And, Yah’l,” Munar said, “make an example of any who aid her.”

  Day 15: Night

  Twilight had settled over the encampment, and night hastened to follow. Ashen clouds, heavy with rain and appearing black in the gloom, concealed the moon. Pole torches provided the only light for the assemblage convening in an open area to the west of the camp. Sentries stood where the space bordered the forest.

  Near the northern edge, Sar-Kyul stood alone upon a low wooden platform, with Aya and Shayala to his right and Ryz’k to his left. Behind the platform, just before the eaves of the forest, was a rectangular pit, from which a feral, rabid growling issued forth. Assembled were many adult members of the Moroi Hunters; a murmur of uncertainty rose like the buzz from a swarm of insects.

  Although all four bore scabbarded weapons upon their belts, Sar-Kyul toted only a sword-hilt dagger, rather than his khopeshes. Six additional fangs adorned his prominent necklace.

  In his waist pouch, Sar-Kyul carried a vial of blood from the monsters they kept imprisoned; additional vials had been given to Aya and Ryz’k. During the previous day, Shenla had instructed them in the extraction of the blood, advising that such a severely malnourished monster would likely yield less than four vials, each of eight drams, whereas a well-fed specimen could yield up to twelve or sixteen vials. Shenla had also explained that, to preserve the blood for later use, it must be stored in specially prepared—enchanted—silver vials, though she offered no further details of their preparation.

  As the topic of the assembly had not been announced, gossip abounded: Dorn’s murderer would be brought to be justice; the Moroi Hunters were to go to war against another tribe; Sar-Kyul would abdicate leadership; Aya and Shenla would fight for the attentions of Sar-Kyul; Shenla was to become a member of the tribe.

  Sar-Kyul raised his hands for silence as pockets of conversation persisted. Once the crowd had quieted, Sar-Kyul began. “Moroi Hunters, I’ve heard the rumors about why I have gathered you here. And I will say, they are all false.” Conversations in the crowd intensified, and Sar-Kyul raised his voice to be heard. “The reason is so I may lay a proposal before you. A proposal brought to us by Shenla and which has the potential to forever alter the course of the Moroi Hunters and, indeed, all free tribes.” With only a brief pause, he declared, “The proposal is that all the free tribes unite and bring destruction upon the monsters.”

  From the throng burst a flurry of exclamations and shouted questions. Sar-Kyul allowed the ruckus to continue briefly before again raising his hands for silence, which was slower in coming this time.

  Sar-Kyul stood straight and inhaled deeply. In his steady, deep voice, he continued, “Believe me when I say no decision has been made. All I ask is that you listen fairly. The tribe will vote as is our custom.” This assurance quieted more of the continuing conversations.

  Lowering his voice to impart earnestness, he motioned to his right. “Shenla was sent by her people to seek our aid in this undertaking. For too long, we have suffered under constant threat of the monsters. We survive and persist, but every year, our numbers are less, no matter how many little ones we bear. Already, the monsters from across the river raid our territory and attack our patrols more often. We may survive for many generations still, but our end will inevitably come. And it will come sooner if the monsters decide to attack in force as they have elsewhere. And sooner still, if we are divided.”

  Sar-Kyul carried confidence as he continued. “Our best hope—the best hope for our survival, long into the future—is to stand united against the monsters, to move against them in force and exterminate them.” Sar-Kyul raised a forestalling hand. “I assure you, if that were all, I would not stand before you now. To secure this alliance, Shenla’s people will provide us with silver weapons, enough for all the tribes, and another weapon to assure victory.”

  From his waist-pouch, Sar-Kyul brought forth the vial, removed its stopper, and drank. Ryz’k stiffened and cast his eyes downward as Sar-Kyul downed the contents. Shayala surreptitiously moved away from the platform, as if moving to stand by the lip of the pit.

  Sar-Kyul was fully prepared for this—his third sampling of the blood—and r
elished its effects. The sensations and perceptions flowed into and through him. He addressed the crowd. “Come, see the effects of this unique weapon.”

  As the crowd moved forward and huddled around the lip of the pit, Sar-Kyul drew his dagger and leapt down its fifteen-foot depth. Those nearest the pit gasped, for a ravenous nosferatu stalked its floor. Some even cried out when the nosferatu lunged upward toward Sar-Kyul’s descending form.

  In but a moment, Sar-Kyul used one booted foot to deflect an oncoming claw and, with the heel of his other boot, slammed into the forehead of the snarling creature. The monster fell against the far wall of the pit, and Sar-Kyul landed comfortably on the loose dirt. This time, the gasps from the crowd were not of apprehension but awe.

  Although Sar-Kyul noted the strong earthy smell of soil and clay in the pit, he ignored it, concentrating rather upon his enemy’s scent, which seemed faintly saccharine rather than the putrescent he expected. Although he was still coming to master his vivisense, he did perceive, as experienced through a tingling pattern in his head, the Moroi Hunters above and even the profusion of insects in the surrounding dirt. However, where the monster stood was only a void, the absence of life, similar to recognizing darkness by the absence of light.

  As soon as the creature struck the rear wall, it turned and lunged. As the pit was barely larger than a tomb, Sar-Kyul did not attempt to dodge the monster but met it directly. His left hand grasped the right wrist of the creature as it swiped at his face, and his other hand plunged the argent blade repeatedly into the creature. The monster howled, and the smell of burnt flesh rose to the onlookers above.

  Yet it pushed forward, frenzied in its bloodthirst. Normally, a human, even one as solid as Sar-Kyul, could not withstand such attacks. However, not only did he benefit from a strength matching the monster’s own, he retained his intellect. Sar-Kyul dropped low, tugging the creature’s wrist and allowing its momentum to carry it forward. He propelled the creature over and into the rearward wall headfirst.

  It fell prone; Sar-Kyul leapt upon its back and knocking it flat upon the floor. With fury and abandon, Sar-Kyul’s blade fell and rose unceasingly until the creature’s head remained attached to its body through only the remnants of ligaments and muscle. Dropping the dagger, Sar-Kyul grasped the creature’s greasy, scraggly hair and, with a triumphant bellow, ripped away the head and tossed it to the other end of the pit.

  With his enhanced hearing, the subsequent roar from the crowd initially staggered Sar-Kyul like a cuff to the side of the head. He recovered quickly and looked upward, grinning and savoring the acclamation of his tribe. He retrieved his dagger and, with hardly any effort, leapt out of the pit. He moved through the throng to again stand upon the small platform.

  Stifling his smile and assuming a resolute visage, he called for silence. As the cheering faded, once more he spoke. “Many of you have heard of the trial between Shenla and me, one we undertook under the influence of this same potion. Now you have witnessed for yourselves what is possible.” He reached into his pouch and upheld another vial. Loudly, he said, “With this, we can match the monsters in strength and speed! On such odds, I would wager the skill of the free tribes against the creatures every time!”

  The shouting and cheering resumed, accompanied by calls for battle. Despite the uproar, certain lone voices rose in opposition.

  Ryz’k stepped forward, standing beside Sar-Kyul, and shouted to be heard over the din. “Others have a right to be heard as well. Let any who would dissent speak.”

  Slowly, the voices of the dissenters became distinct.

  A male voice shouted, “Killin’ one o’ the no thinkin’ monsters ain’t like those what can think!”

  “We should be keepin’ the potion for usselves!” came another call from the crowd.

  “Aye!” came another. “Wit’ the potion we can crush th’ other tribes!”

  “Aye, what be their matter t’ us?” came a third.

  “Let th’ others ’tack the monsters! Wit’ them gone, we have all the lands that’s to the sea.”

  Although Shayala had tried to remain inconspicuous to Sar-Kyul’s augmented senses by remaining obscured within the crowd, she became exasperated by the provincial humans. Before Sar-Kyul could respond, she said in a hard, unyielding voice, “You will get nothing if you do not agree to the alliance.”

  As she spoke, Sar-Kyul cast a questioning gaze in her direction. However, in response to Shayala’s ultimatum, many threatening outcries rose from the mob. The growing unruliness stole Sar-Kyul’s attention before he could consider the perplexing impression he sensed from her direction.

  One warrior raised his sword and shouted, “We can force her to give us the potion.” This call was taken up by others around him.

  Shayala’s gaze met that of the outspoken warrior. With her hands upon the pommels of her swords, she said in a warning tone, “Do try.”

  Sar-Kyul knew he had to regain control before the mob deteriorated further. He raised his hands once more. “Calm! Please, calm!” He gestured toward the sentries, who left their posts along the forest line and positioned themselves around the fracas on the chance they were called upon to reestablish order.

  With nary a warning drop, the clouds unleashed their downpour.

  Although the thought of retreating from the belligerent humans was galling to Shayala, she sought to surreptitiously withdraw before Sar-Kyul again took notice of her in his heightened state. Fortunately, she was aided in her retreat by both the rain, which would mask her departure, and the crowd, which would confuse the interpretation of his yet unmastered vivisense.

  Shayala easily pushed her way through the jostling press of bodies. Although a few humans tried to restrain her, she effortlessly knocked them aside. At least one she left howling with a shattered hand. Most were still captivated by the mood and emotion of the crowd and paid her no heed.

  Near the edge of the mass, she encountered Aya. “Shenla, I’m glad to see you were not harmed by the crowd. Where do you go?”

  Shayala offered only the terse reply, “They are an unreasoning mob,” before continuing in her escape. Attaining the forest, she circled the encampment, far beyond the range of Sar-Kyul’s perception.

  Although the deluge quelled the excitement of the mob, the crowd still simmered with hostility. Sar-Kyul spoke once more. “If we fight amongst ourselves, we only aid the monsters. We need not make any decision now; it is enough to know these weapons would be available to us, should we choose to strike.”

  Aya made her way to Sar-Kyul’s side, and he said to her, “A vote would be pointless.” She nodded her agreement. “Where is Shenla?”

  “She did not wish to further incite tempers with her presence, so took her leave.”

  Sar-Kyul was thoughtful for a moment: he was still learning to understand the sensations imparted to him by the monsters’ blood and could have misinterpreted what he sensed. In a whisper, said he, “I sensed something strange during the commotion. I don’t want an unnecessary panic, especially in the current state of this crowd. Quietly take a contingent of warriors and ensure no monsters are nearby.”

  Aya was startled by the revelation but nodded acknowledgement and quickly moved to comply.

  Throughout the tumult and despite the hard rain, Ryz’k stood by, smiling.

  *****

  As if waiting for the dark, the rain began to fall in torrents as soon as the sun set. Yah’l stood atop a low hill, his back to a contingent of soldiers, watching the running approach of a lone figure. The raindrops flowed over the unclad bodies and bedraggled their hair, though none experienced any sensation of coolness or wetness; indeed, if they closed their eyes, they would not have known if the deluge had stopped.

  The strigoi, coming to stop before the spy marshal, sheathed his saber and awaited acknowledgement before speaking. The stamp upon his gorget resembled the insigne of Duke Munar, though one of the drops of blood was formed into the shape of a spyglass, signifying his subordination to the s
py marshal. His topknot sagged in the downpour.

  “Report, Hyshin,” Yah’l said.

  “She is there, hidden within the house of a tanner. Our agents witnessed her enter last night, and no one has exited since.”

  Yah’l stood silently, contemplating. The rain was the only sound and seemed to accentuate scents of the surrounding forest. Although the scouts found no exits in the surrounding woodland, that did not mean none existed, and he did not have the resources with him to control the village while maintaining more than a token patrol of the wood. He would have to trust that, if any tunnels existed, they led elsewhere within the village and did not exit upon the forest.

  Yah’l turned to the soldiers. “Take everyone other than the tanner into custody. We will question them regarding escape tunnels before moving in on our quarry. Gather the chattel for questioning. Go.”

  Fifty soldiers, all bearing the stamped gorget of Duke Munar, entered the village Hathaer and, without warning, began battering into each building and seizing the residents. Two flagstone paths ran down the main avenue of the village. The remainder of the ground was fast turned into clinging mud.

  Although the villagers outnumbered the soldiers, they could not match the soldiers’ discipline, training, or weaponry. Several forcibly resisted but were quickly and violently subdued, though only one was slain. Within a quarter hour, the villagers were corralled within the common house, the largest structure in the village. Twenty-five soldiers remained with the spy marshal in the hall, while four soldiers stood watch without the tannery, and the remainder ransacked each dwelling for any sign of a tunnel.

  Yah’l stood apart while soldiers removed the wooden tables and seating to press the villagers into center of the hall. The spy marshal called for silence, though the frightened and indignant villagers continued to chatter and protest their treatment. With a gesture, Yah’l signaled to the ten infantry who doubled as archers.