The Moroi Hunters Read online

  Without uttering a word, Munar rose from his seat. When Corvyne followed, the duke forestalled him with an upraised hand. Trailed by his guards, Munar left the chamber, leaving the confused nobles to espouse theories as to the duke’s purpose.

  It had been a risk to reveal his knowledge about the existence of a traitor, though had it succeeded he would have saved valuable time in further investigation. Yet he had learned nothing from their reactions or explanations. He cared not about their ordinary diversions and intrigues. Still, he would have Yah’l look more closely into each of them.

  Duke Munar arrived at a cell within the bowels of the castle, though at the opposite end from that which held former captain Halura. Captain Syuth and two others of the duke’s personal guard stood sentry. Munar dismissed the two guards, allowing only Syuth to remain.

  Without pause or greeting, Munar opened the cell door and stepped within to find the shackled Seneschal Lyuth. The irate prisoner said, without trying to hide his indignation, “Your Grace, this is—”

  “Seneschal, do not waste my valuable time,” Munar interrupted. “It will only make matters worse for you. You assured me Shayala was dead, yet now I learn she is not.”

  The duke imagined he could see the workings of the seneschal’s mind searching for a suitable rationalization.

  “Your Grace,” Lyuth began, “I truly believed she was no more. To the best of my knowledge, I thought the remains I examined to be hers.”

  “Who else is a part of this conspiracy?”

  “There is no conspiracy, Your Grace. An honest mistake only.” Desperation began to replace indignation in Lyuth’s voice.

  “Even if that were true, how could I ever again place trust in you, Seneschal? At best, you are incompetent. At worst, you acted against me.”

  In a tone he hoped sounded less afraid than he felt, Lyuth said, “You do not command me, Your Grace. If I have failed in my duty, I must be tried before a Noble Conclave. Otherwise you defy the law.” Lyuth knew the duke would never allow him a trial, where the intrigues could be aired. If he were fortunate, his life would soon be over, but there was no convincing the duke of his non-complicity.

  Munar shook his head and said in a chagrined tone, “It is a shame. You’ve held your post for over two centuries. You had the opportunity to prove your loyalty and value, and you’ve squandered it. Oh, you’ll get your trial, though it may take months to assemble the Conclave. Until then, you’ll be held here.” After a pause, he added, “I do hope the guards remember to feed you. Your fate is your own doing.”

  Munar exited the cell, and the closing door held the sound of finality to Lyuth. To Syuth, Munar said, “Captain, it seems I am in need of a new seneschal.”

  Day 18: Light

  The azure heights were painted with billows of white, like pastose strokes upon a canvas, scattering umbral patches among the radiant expanse below. At the base of the hillock, a tied horse grazed upon the grass. As Shayala approached, the nag grew nervous, whimpering and snorting, pawing at the ground and tugging at the rope.

  Shayala ascended the slope and entered the grotto, proceeding to the innermost cavern where Ronla and Azark lunched, the former upon a human male, the latter upon a strip of dried venison. At the far end of the cavern, another bound human male lay groaning, rattling the bones beneath him. Shayala dropped the sack with a metallic clatter by the entrance. The two paused their meals to regard their mistress.

  “Report,” Shayala commanded, looking at Ronla.

  With bloodied lips, Ronla replied, “The hunt was successful. I obtained additional fare as well as food and a mount for the human.”

  Shayala noted Ronla seemed to be adapting well to her new existence. From experience, feral humans, who lived and matured without the civilizing influence of the strigoi, often had difficulty in adjusting to true life, and many would inevitably be put down. Satisfied, Shayala shifted toward Azark and cast him an impatient look.

  “I-I delivered the sack,” he said in a quavering voice. His eyes were ringed by dark circles, and his skin was pale and clammy. He shook slightly and not entirely from fear.

  Shayala noticed his sense of disappointment at her return but said nothing, continuing rather to stare menacingly at him.

  He stammered, “Um…I…they…there was no incident.”

  Shayala crossed the cavern to feed upon Ronla’s human. Once satiated, she said without turning to look at Azark, “Deliver this bag as you did the other.”

  “Aye,” Azark said without even considering the response. He took up the sack and quit the grotto.

  Shayala was left with a dilemma. She felt she needed to stay near the humans to press the issue of an attack against the Court. However, as the humans and, especially, Sar-Kyul became more accustomed to the heightened senses from the strigoiic blood, they were more likely to discern her nature—a consideration she had overlooked. At least once she reclaimed her throne, the matter would be immaterial. Regardless, she could do nothing more until the contingent dispatched by Lyan reached her.

  Day 19: Night

  To Azark, feverish and shivering, the darkness and nocturnal birdsong seemed oppressive and ominous. Fortunately, where the moonlight reached the ground, the third quarter moon provided sufficient light by which to negotiate the wooded route. He slumped in his saddle as he returned from another successful delivery to the Moroi Hunters. His swollen wound was even more inflamed and leaked a greenish pus that stained his tunic. The brand the she-monster inflicted upon me is infected. Now that death from infection was a real possibility, Azark wondered that he would prefer life, even if under constant fear of that creature in the form of a woman.

  His bitter thoughts turned toward Ronla. She acts as if she herself had not been human until only a week prior. He could not recall ever holding such disgust and contempt for another as one who sympathized or collaborated with monsters—until now. One who relished becoming a monster.

  As night settled, his tolerance for the pain decreased. The lightest brush of fabric was excruciating. Between the pain and fever, he unfastened his belt and removed his tunic, too preoccupied to realize he dropped them as he rode on. With growing disorientation, he soon strayed from the course leading him back to the lair.

  Lost within his own unsettled mind, Azark did not notice the growing unease of his mount or the quieting of the woodnote. Indeed, he was completely unaware of the assailers until they burst forth from the forest to surround him. His nag found new life, reared, and bolted. Azark fell jarringly to the dirt with a cry of surprise and renewed pain.

  The strigoi did not bother with the horse but swarmed to encircle the human. The smell of infection was unmistakable to them. Although they would receive nourishment from such a one, he would taste foul and would not prove sustaining. The five disciplined soldiers, gorgeted with the crown duke’s insigne, looked to the sixth, crouched over this unusual sight of a shirtless human who traveled alone in the night.

  Azark peered upward at their forms, framed in a patchwork of shadow and moonlight, and wondered if delirium had claimed him.

  “It is branded,” Azark heard the leader say. The cruelty in that voice made Azark shiver, despite his fever. “Though I do not recognize the rune.”

  “The brand is fresh,” observed another, and Azark wasn’t sure if this one’s tone held more maliciousness than the first.

  “What would it be doing here, alone?” asked another.

  “Bring it,” the leader ordered. “Something is afoot.”

  Azark hoped unconsciousness would mercifully find him as he was hefted by one of the monsters and carried away.

  Day 19: Light

  “What have you learned from our treacherous seneschal?” Munar faced Spy Marshal Yah’l, again within the seclusion of the ducal study. An exsanguinated human male lay near the iron door leading to his personal chamber. Glancing at the crumpled form, Munar almost regretted draining it completely in his anger; its blood was an exquisite vintage he would no longer b
e able to savor.

  “As we suspected, Your Grace, he was aware the remains were not of Shayala,” Yah’l replied. “Though he is ignorant of any others who were allied with her. He thought only to help her escape to live in exile.”

  Munar scoffed. “One such as she would never be content to live in obscurity. What to do to with the faithless seneschal?”

  “I’m afraid he will be of no more use to anyone. His defiance and tolerance for pain were admirable. But in the end, he could not resist the hunger. My method of inducing the bloodthirst to extract information works equally well on the unenthralled as it does on the enthralled.”

  “Again, you prove your proficiency at interrogation, Spy Marshal.”

  Yah’l nodded acceptance of the compliment, pride at his facility in that arena evident.

  After a thoughtful pause, Munar continued, “Obviously Captain Halura was privy, as was Lyan. The question is, how far does the treachery go?”

  “My agents have captured several of her personal guard, though they, too, are ignorant of the wider plot. They know only they were to await word from Halura or Lyan.”

  “Insufferable!” Munar experienced the unsettling feeling of his own futility and impotence in setting matters right. His intense anger at those feelings and at the turn of events would be directed toward those, once caught, who vexed him.

  “Your Grace, the interrogations were not without merit. From the guards, I was able to learn the sign and countersign used by Shayala and her loyalists.”

  “Then at least you have not completely failed,” Munar said, venting his frustration upon the spy marshal. Yah’l showed no reaction. “We shall need to interrogate the whole of the castle guard to determine which others are in league with the seneschal.”

  Yah’l chose his words carefully. “Your Grace, there are already whispers that you ignore the law and compromise the neutrality of the castle guard by appointing Syuth as seneschal. If its members were then to begin disappearing, those whispers would become a torrent of suspicious outcry. Better to allow Syuth to conduct his investigation surreptitiously.”

  “I am the law!” Munar shouted in irritation. Despite his anger and impatience, Munar understood that Yah’l was correct. Although Lyuth had already violated the neutrality of the castle guard by abetting Shayala, such was not commonly known. If the duke were to openly accuse the guard of contravening its purview, it could easily lead to questions whose answers he did not want to be heralded publicly.

  Munar continued, “Syuth’s inquisition shall continue. However, if he doesn’t learn anything of value soon, I’ll have no choice but to utilize more direct means.”

  Yah’l nodded. “Another item, Your Grace: A patrol has gone missing in the southwest. I’ve dispatched agents to investigate its disappearance. Additionally, I have begun sending patrols beyond the border of the Court, searching for any sign of Shayala, though the amount of territory to cover is vast.”

  “There is no greater priority than locating and destroying her,” Munar said with fiery-eyed vehemence. “Whatever the expense and by whatever means required, even if I must burn half the Court. I will not have my enthronement marred by the specter of that chattel-born wench.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  *****

  Ryz’k stood in a comfortable, wide stance, his hands clasped behind his back. He watched Sar-Kyul, at the center of the common, instruct another knot of warriors in the use of the monsters’ blood. Although she had been gone for days, Shenla made good on her promise, providing for the delivery of more weapons and blood.

  He trusted neither Shenla nor that foul liquid, but he could not deny its usefulness. After sampling the blood during his battle against her, he feared some dire consequence—but he experienced nothing. Although part of him enjoyed the irony of using the monsters’ own blood against them, he could not shake the ominous notion that it marked the beginning of the end for the free tribes.

  Ryz’k watched the wonder come over the warriors’ faces as they experienced the enhancing effects for the first time. Even with the blood and combined strength of the tribes, he doubted whether they could overcome the monsters, and he half-contemplated revealing the source of the blood to end this mad venture. If the tribe knew whence it came, they would decry its use and denounce Sar-Kyul. But he was not so petty as to desire Sar-Kyul’s fall.

  Foremost, he wanted to ensure the survival of the Moroi Hunters, and, for the moment, this blood seemed the best way to do that. Yet, eventually, they would have to reveal the source, though that would come after the tribe became accustomed to its use.

  Day 20: Night

  A breeze swept the clouds across the sky and rustled the leaves in the forest. The contingent of female strigoi was wary as it approached the hillock, for the rustling could mask the sound of enemies.

  The hillock, with its crowning tor, matched the description they had been given. Six soldiers deployed to conduct reconnaissance of the area surrounding the hillock. All were armed with swords and an assortment of daggers. Three carried folded tents of heavy canvas upon their backs.

  A seventh soldier remained to oversee the prisoners—three humans and a male strigoi—all bound at the wrists, though the strigoi was also shackled about his ankles. Although hours remained before the darkness would begin to fade, if this was not their destination, they would be forced to hide from the killing sun before continuing their search.

  Other than the sound of the wind, the wood about the hillock was eerily quiet and empty of wildlife. The six soon reconvened, confirming the absence of sentries. At a nod from the soldier who had remained with the prisoners, the troop formed into a wedge behind her; the prisoners trundled along at the center of the formation.

  As they crossed the open space between the forest and slope, the leader’s pupilless ruby eyes scanned the area. Longsword in hand, she remained alert for suggestive sounds or smells. Like the others, she wore a deviceless gorget; her blue-gray hair was tied in a loose ponytail.

  At the summit, they discovered the grotto beneath the rocky formation and entered. Despite the low light, the strigoi had no difficulty in marking their steps. Once within the low tunnel, they proceeded single file, with the leader at the head; three soldiers came next, followed by the four prisoners, and trailed by the remaining three warriors. Beyond the far end of the tunnel, they detected the spoor of both human and strigoi among a heavy osseous odor.

  The lead soldier emerged from the tunnel into the wider cavern, where she was met by an alarmed female strigoi and a woman armed with two longswords. The latter, strangely, went unnoted by vivisense and smelled queerly of ruža vlajna. As the other soldiers entered, they spread into a line facing the two occupants.

  The leader stepped forward, challengingly, toward the female, believing her to be the dominant of the two. She visibly flinched when Shayala said, “State your purpose.”

  Quickly regaining her composure, she answered, “I serve the night.”

  “Then you serve me.”

  The leader took a moment to recall Lyan’s description of Queen Shayala, then dropped to her knee, uttering, “Your Majesty.” The others followed, forcing the prisoners into a bow as well.

  The leader gave a glance to the strigoi insolently standing near the queen. The strigoi’s mouth was open, and she stared at the kneeling soldiers in open wonder and confusion.

  “You may rise. Report, Lieutenant Thal.”

  Thal rose. “Your Majesty, you are aware of Captain Halura’s capture?” Shayala nodded once, remaining impassive. Thal’s voice and expression quavered nearly imperceptibly. In a whisper, she added, “She will be avenged.”

  At this, Shayala said with conviction, “The usurper shall be made to answer.”

  Thal’s expression hardened and she gave a determined nod.

  Thal gestured toward the prisoners, “As requested, Your Majesty, we bring the convicted strigoi.” After a brief pause, she asked, “Your Majesty, shall I instruct this one in prope
r decorum?” She inclined her head toward Ronla.

  Shayala nodded, and Thal, without drawing her weapons, moved toward Ronla, who suddenly assumed the expression of a cornered animal. To the others, Shayala said, “Upon the next night, you will raid a camp of feral humans.” This declaration was met by eager smiles, showing prominent, tapered fangs.

  Day 20: Light

  In what seemed a deserted corridor of Castle Ky’lor, groaning from two throaty, masculine voices emanated from an alcove. As one male strigoi thrust into the hunched form of another, the former started in surprise when he felt the tip of an argent blade beneath his jaw and a firm grip clutch the umber braids of his hair.

  “Do you recognize my voice—or my scent?” asked the one holding the blade.

  That voice, of Spy Marshal Lyan, froze the strigoi and dashed any thought of violent resistance. He was one of a select number beyond Shayala’s inner circle to have met the elusive spy marshal: an experience not readily forgotten. He nodded slightly, and the tip of the blade nicked his jaw, issuing a brief hiss of seared flesh from the contact.

  Lyan released the braids and lowered the dagger slightly. “We have interests in common, Voyl. The usurper placed his creature in command of the castle guard, a position rightly yours as Lyuth’s lieutenant.”

  Voyl remained silent.

  Lyan continued, “The usurper will not long hold the throne. When his reign is ended, a reckoning will occur, and I would be glad to see you in your proper office as seneschal. When the time is upon us, you will seize command of the guard. They will follow you. You need not take any action against the usurper or his treasonous supporters, only maintain the neutrality that is your charge. You need not respond now, but understand, I will remember.” She did not wait for a reply or acknowledgement. “Now, by all means, resume your play.”