The Moroi Hunters Page 4

  Corvyne peered to his left, through the doorway leading to the keep’s foyer, then glanced to his right into the audience chamber. What he saw—or, rather, did not see—was jarring to most who clung to certain usages of court, including Duke Munar: the areas were bereft of courtiers, flatterers, and sycophants. Shayala’s distaste of, and hostility toward, those whom she considered superfluous was well known among the Court, and she had removed all such individuals, creating enemies among those who lost their tenuous handhold upon power.

  Present and visible to either side, however, were members of the castle guard and several bustling functionaries. The latter formed Corvyne’s army—not an army of swords and arrows and shields, but one of quill and parchment and bureaucracy. He commanded a host of such who performed the never-ending and thankless tasks that maintained and administered the castle.

  Without acknowledging their presence, the queen strode, straight-backed, through the anteroom and into the chamber.

  Munar and Corvyne stood immediately and followed several paces behind the queen.

  They exited through a side door, passed through branching corridors lit by sparse hanging braziers, and descended several flights of stairs. The corridors were lined with doors, some unguarded, others set with two attentive guards armed with silver-bladed halberds and daggers. Finally, they came to a pair of arched doors marked with a wyvern holding a sword in one claw and a staff in the other. Beyond the doors was a large room filled with cages of humans, whose anger at their recent captivity had changed to fear under the growing realization of their predicament. The miasma of human filth was obnoxious to strigoiic sensibilities.

  At the queen’s appearance, a strigoi, vivisecting a screaming, barely coherent human strapped to a blood-stained workbench, ceased his work, leaving the woman to cry and moan, begging to die. He approached the queen and bent on one knee. His pupilless, fiery orange eyes contrasted with his calm, inquisitive demeanor. He wore only a harness of pouches and pockets, filled with an assortment of steel implements, many of which were bloodied.

  “Report, Magificer Haluth,” Shayala said.

  “The hunt was a success, Your Majesty,” the experimenter began. “We tracked the pair of fleeing chattel to a band of feral humans and retrieved twenty specimens, none of whose blood proved poisonous.” He gestured toward the protesting, incarcerated humans. “However, such successes are growing rarer, and our supply of potable blood diminishes.”

  No sooner had he spoken than, quicker than he could deflect, a backhand from the queen sent him sprawling.

  “Do not explain to me that which I already know, Haluth.” Shayala’s voice did not reflect the sudden violence she had committed.

  “My apologies, Your Majesty,” begged the experimenter, struggling to his knees once more, eyes downcast.

  “Find a way to breed these chattel more quickly. They take far too long to gestate; the farms cannot keep pace with their attrition.” No threat was needed. The experimenter knew the price of failure.

  Shayala turned to leave but, before withdrawing, addressed the castellan. “Distribute the new specimens among the chattel farms to replace the depleted stock.” To the duke, “Increase the number of hunts, into King H’shu’s territory if you must.”

  Both bowed, intoning, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  But Queen Shayala had already moved past them.

  Haluth returned to the sobbing woman whose innards were exposed; the heady smell of gore wafted like a comforting friend. After waiting for the queen’s steps to recede, the duke and castellan approached Haluth.

  “Magificer, may I have a moment?” Munar asked.

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “No disrespect to Her Majesty, of course, but I fear your talents are not fully appreciated.” The duke tossed a look of disgust at the tortured human.

  “No—or yes, Your Grace. Her Majesty shows me far more respect than I am due by one of her eminence.” Haluth’s orange eyes, which shone at the unexpected comment, darted back and forth between Munar and Corvyne.

  “Of course, of course. No doubt, Haluth,” Munar said in a mild tone to soothe the Magificer’s obvious discomfort. “I mean only that I can certainly envision many other ways to acknowledge your brilliance.”

  “I…I do appreciate that, Your Grace. However…”

  “What His Grace is saying, Haluth,” Corvyne interjected, “is, although your work is laudable and imperative, you are capable of so much more benefit to the Court. So much more renown.”

  “I seek only to do my duty as commanded by Her Majesty,” Haluth said, standing straighter.

  “As do we all,” concurred the duke. “A day may come when you will be called upon to show your true mettle. I have no doubt, at that time, you will choose correctly, and your reward will be great.”

  “I do not—” Haluth began, again slouching.

  “You will understand when the time comes,” Munar finished. “And I have full confidence in you.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you,” Haluth muttered in a quavering voice.

  With that, the duke turned and left.

  “Magificer,” Corvyne said, nodding once, before following Munar from the chamber.

  Day 4: Night

  Duke Munar, encircled by his personal guard and bundle-carrying servants, returned to the keep after an excursion through the market, now bustling with the commerce of strigoi. Crowds of shoppers, some bearing newly acquired goods, including human chattel, stood aside in sudden sobriety as the duke’s entourage passed.

  At the entrance to the keep, Corvyne remained silent at Munar’s approach, awaiting the duke’s acknowledgement.

  “Castellan,” Munar said, implicitly permitting the castellan to speak.

  “Your Grace,” Corvyne responded, standing just beyond the circle. “May we speak in private?”

  “By all means, accompany me to my chamber.”

  Corvyne followed the procession across the topmost bridge to the eastern tower and, in short order, arrived at the duke’s private chamber. Guards closed the door behind them and took up position beyond the room.

  A strong scent of musk surrounded the duke, likely due to the indulgent tasting of humans at the market. Without preamble, Munar asked, “What news, Corvyne?”

  “My messengers conveyed the amended arrangement to Countess Sashal, Earlress Ralyr, Earl Othor, and Baroness Alorn. Predictably, their responses were alarmed and questioning, but they came to realize no other option was tenable. Although they are prepared, they are anxious. Were any other changes necessary, I fear we would lose several allies.”

  “And of the baron and the count?”

  “I have relayed instructions that neither is to leave the council chamber.”

  “A wonderful touch.” Munar’s enthusiasm lay undisguised as he considered his coming elevation. “Soon, the bones of our pretender queen will be added to the Skeletal Throne.” The duke chuckled, then added, “I require privacy.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Corvyne bowed and withdrew from the chamber.

  Day 5: Night

  At a casual glance, the gray wolf within the cage would have appeared as any other. However, with even the slightest more discernment, disparities became apparent. Its coat and skin were singed where they touched the silver bars; its canines were longer than usual for an animal of its type; its yellow eyes were pupilless.

  As the cage was not large enough to allow the creature much freedom of movement, whenever it brushed the bars, its howling became a high-pitched yelp, accompanied by the acrid odor of burnt hair. The enclosure sat at one end of a low wooden tunnel, barely taller than the wolf itself. The other end lay open to the forest beyond.

  At a gesture from Duke Munar, the master of the hunt—a rangy strigoi whose golden medallion was emblazoned with the profile of the yawning jaws of the wolflike moroi in the cage—slid open the front gate. The moroi, faster than its living counterparts, sped down the tunnel and into the forest.

  With the
first quarter moon still low in the sky, the duke, accompanied by twelve guards, assumed the chase. While the duke carried a silver-tipped spear and a silver-bladed rondel, his guards were armed with an assortment of weapons.

  Munar and his retinue pursued the lupine moroi into the forest. The band had little difficulty following the creature’s mad rush, which left a clear trail through the underbrush. Even without the obvious path, the strigoi’s acute olfactory sense could easily track the moroi’s spoor.

  After proceeding several miles, Duke Munar addressed his entourage. “Continue with the moroi hunt. Await me at the waystation to the south.”

  One of the guards protested, “Your Grace, allow several of us to accompany you.”

  “That will not be necessary. Do as instructed.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Although he disagreed, the guard was wise enough not to press further.

  Munar embarked southward and, in short order, reached a windowless, single-story stone building. To obstruct the penetration of light, the sturdy, oaken door was set into a recess formed by a surrounding brim of projecting stone around the seams. The duke entered, immediately faced with an internal wall that ran the width of the structure—a further precaution against the light—with an additional door at either end.

  Once the duke passed beyond the internal wall, he found another already present. She was a petite, light-skinned strigoi, with hooded, pupilless, champagne eyes and matching hair. Her proud mien was accentuated by an innocent beauty, belied by a shrewdness in her eyes that intimated a far-greater age than she appeared. Although she wore a dagger upon a jeweled belt, the weapon was more ornamental than functional.

  The interior consisted of a single, unadorned room, furnished with only a dilapidated table and four chairs at its center. Two wooden doors stood closed to the right of the entrance. The only other occupants were two feeble, pacified humans fettered to the far wall.

  Munar set his spear aside and slid his dagger into his belt sheath. “Moon’s embrace, Your Highness.”

  “I received your summons.” With a playful smile, she added, “Your Grace is quite the lecher.”

  Flashing Princess H’shu a doubtful expression, he said with some annoyance, “I would not risk us both by calling this tryst, Highness, were it not of import.” Before she could inquire further, he continued, “The plans have changed.”

  A moment passed as she grasped his meaning. “You cannot! He must fall.” In an imperious tone, tinged with desperation, she added, “It is time you repaid your debt. It is not my fault Thyse named Shayala as his successor.”

  Displaying some petulance at her outburst and indignation at the reminder of his obligation, Munar responded, “And he will. However, we are forced to advance the removal of the queen.”

  “Then we must expedite the fall of my father as well.”

  Munar did not immediately respond. “It requires impeccable planning, Princess. King H’shu will not be easily overcome. To underestimate him invites disaster.”

  “We can use the chaos surrounding the demise of Queen Shayala as cover. He would be an unlucky casualty of your Court’s internal politics.”

  “Perhaps,” Munar replied thoughtfully. “It may require your hand to lure him into a vulnerable position.”

  “Gladly, providing I need not take a more active role.”

  “Not at all, Your Highness. I will see to the details. During the convening of the Noble Conclave, the queen will lose her throne. And by the noon of that night, I will rendezvous with you along this same road, at the station midway to your border.”

  The princess’s answering smile was wide and genuine. “I must go if I am to return to Court H’shu by morning.” Raising her voice slightly, said she, “We go.”

  At that, six gorgeted soldiers, bearing silver-bladed, straight-edged swords, entered from two side rooms to flank her. She took satisfaction in the duke’s momentary startlement.

  As H’shu and her guards removed to a large coach stationed behind the safe house, the duke, while awaiting his retinue, chose to sample upon one of the unresisting humans within.

  Day 5: Light

  As Kurl’s screams reached the ears of those within the queen’s audience chamber, the last of the petitioners who had arrived the night before were ushered in.

  Shayala sat upon the Skeletal Throne, set upon a dais ten steps above the black shale-tiled floor at the far end of the audience chamber. Two rows of fluted columns, topped with sculptures of the heads of various beasts, ran the length of the chamber. The walls were lined with tapestries forming a pictorial, chronological history of the Court, beginning with the capture of the castle by King Ky’lor, whose name the castle still bore. Along the center of the nave, exquisite branched chandeliers of worked copper and gold hung in line with the columns. The cool dankness of the keep went unnoticed by the unclad occupants of the chamber. Humorless castle guards cordoned the assorted petitioners and inquirers at the opposite end of the chamber.

  Shayala’s personal guard of female strigoi lined the aisles between the columns and the walls. They stood impassive but alert, resting the hafts of silver-bladed glaives upon the floor and bore assorted edged weapons at their waists or across their backs.

  Standing at the base of the platform was Captain Halura, whose supple form, stern visage, and vigilant, aurous eyes brought to mind a great cat stalking its prey. Her chestnut hair was pulled back and tied with a simple thong of leather. Although she wore no jewelry or adornment, she displayed a steel gorget, two scabbarded swords upon her belt, and a dagger sheathed upon each thigh and upper arm.

  Castellan Corvyne stood opposite the captain at the base of dais and introduced the next petitioners. “Your Majesty, these are V’laryn and R’laryn, formerly thralls of Laryn—who was killed during a moroi hunt. She left no written instructions, and they disagree as to the allocation of her lands and property.”

  In a long-held aulic tradition, any citizen of the Court might petition the sovereign for redress or adjudication. Verdicts were final, with no further recourse or appeal. Although many sought the queen’s intervention and judgment, only a select few were chosen to stand before the Skeletal Throne.

  Presently, Shayala’s expression was a mix of annoyance and impatience as Corvyne continued. “The property consists—”

  Shayala interrupted, “Within one week’s time, you will return with the allocation of the land and property expressly defined, or it will become the possession of the Court.”

  Both petitioners were too stunned to speak, so Corvyne responded for them. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He gestured to V’laryn and R’laryn that their audience had ended. Although their expressions reflected confusion and dismay, they bowed and departed without complaint.

  A scribe stood aside, busily recording the particulars of each case, adding to the stack of parchment on a lectern.

  Corvyne announced the next two petitioners. “Valyn and Yalar. Their dispute concerns compensation for the destruction of chattel. Valyn seeks compensation for a human male destroyed by Yalar. Yalar does not dispute the act but claims justification in that the human struck him.”

  “Valyn,” began the queen, “did your human strike Yalar?”

  Valyn hesitated briefly before answering, having considered then discarded any thought of lying. “I cannot say, Your Majesty, I did not witness it.”

  “But you allow for the possibility,” Shayala replied, “and that is enough. Under no circumstance may chattel strike a strigoi. Perhaps your chattel do not have sufficient respect for your authority.”

  Valyn was downcast as he realized his mistake.

  “Valyn, you will compensate Yalar with two chattel in recompense for your negligence,” Shayala ordered. “If you again fail to control your chattel, the punishment will not be so lenient.” The queen stood and, despite the waiting supplicants, declared, “This audience is ended.”

  Disappointment was evident in the expressions of the remaining petitioners, yet all were
wise enough not to voice their objections too loudly. While the castle guard expelled everyone from the chamber, Shayala descended the dais, and Halura assumed a position behind her.

  Day 6: Night

  Shayala, accompanied by Captain Halura, called upon Haluth. The pens of the Magificer’s work area were now empty.

  Haluth, seated at a table and engaged in the meticulous fabrication of a gold-and-amethyst necklace, rose and bowed.

  “Report, Magificer,” Shayala ordered without preamble or salutation.

  “Your Majesty, the interrogation of the captured humans revealed nothing new concerning the feral tribes. No alterations to the plan are necessary.”

  “And what of the new specimens?” Shayala asked.

  “I have them here, Your Majesty.” Haluth forthwith retrieved two collared and leashed, dark-skinned human females from a side room. Their scent recalled to Shayala a time long gone and irretrievable. As he returned, he bowed once more. “These are the last from the south for your consideration.”

  Shayala appraised them quickly. “Have these cleaned and sent to my chamber.”

  Haluth summoned an assistant to carry out the command. Before the exchange was completed, Shayala and Halura had departed.

  Day 7: Light

  In her private chamber, Shayala considered the two tremulous, tearful, naked human females huddled upon the floor. The chamber contained only utilitarian desks and tables; the walls were lined with silken tapestries depicting myriad scenes of strigoi slaughtering various species of chattel in progressively more creative and sadistic ways. One portrayed a complicated apparatus that simultaneously stretched, stabbed, and crushed a body. Burning candles, set within graven candlesticks upon each desk or table, filled the chamber with flickering light and the musky scent of mugwort.

  “Stand,” she ordered the humans. The queen examined them in detail, turning their heads side to side, inspecting their teeth, gripping and squeezing their breasts, and scrutinizing every blemish upon their dusky skin. Without a word, she broke the neck of one of the females. She could not allow a witness, even if—especially if—human. The other human squealed and started, but the queen’s hand around her throat quieted her to a whimper.