The Moroi Hunters Page 5

  Still gripping the woman’s neck, Shayala turned to Captain Halura, standing by the vestibule and watching the queen conduct the inspection. “No one is to disturb me before the sun has set and risen once more. And dispose of this body.”

  Halura saluted, right fist over the heart, and moved immediately to relay the orders to the guards beyond the main door.

  Shayala retrieved a collar and leash from a desk drawer and fastened them to the remaining human. She spoke a word, causing a portion of the wall hidden behind a tapestry to swing open, revealing an unlit passage. Pulling the human behind her, the queen entered. Another word sealed the wall, and a third ignited ensconced torches, which extinguished shortly after the two passed.

  The queen moved surely through the maze of passageways and stairways, the human struggling to keep pace. If the woman fell behind, a tug on the leash brought her stumbling forward. Like the castle, these passages were cool and dank, though, because of the infrequency of their use, they also contained a dusty quality.

  Shayala stepped through another section of wall, which opened at her command, and into a spacious chamber. The room held a large desk, several worktables, and wooden shelving, all covered in documents, implements, and glassware containing all manner and color of liquids, powders, and sundries. The profusion of chemicals, smoke from a small alembic burner, and assorted substances combined to create an acidic odor, unpleasant but not harmful to strigoi.

  Haluth awaited her.

  A tug on the leash brought the human roughly to the floor and induced from her a piteous mewling. Haluth noted only one human accompanied the queen but did not voice any concern regarding the other. Nevertheless, Shayala answered his unspoken question. “She was too short and her breasts too small. Add this one to the other candidates and choose the best suitable.” Without waiting for acknowledgement, she continued. “What is the count of our stable?”

  “We have accumulated well over ten thousand in the last decade, Your Majesty. However, maintaining the chattel is logistically challenging and requires a great deal of feed. It is becoming increasingly difficult to dispose of their waste—disgusting creatures—and to conceal and transport that amount of fodder.”

  “It shan’t be much longer. And the duke and castellan?”

  “They did approach me, Your Majesty, hoping to manipulate my…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Mistreatment.”

  “Move one hundred chattel to the rooms adjoining the second passage from my chamber. When the time comes that you must choose a side, reveal to them that passage and the rooms.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “And my necklace?”

  “Just one final test, Your Majesty.”

  “We are out of time, Magificer.”

  “Simply an abundance of caution, Your Majesty. It will be awaiting your return.”

  “See to it.” Deigning a nod to Haluth, Shayala left through the same secret portal she had entered. Rather than return to her chamber, however, she followed another route, the walls becoming more roughly hewn the farther she traveled. At her command, fixtured torches flared, illuminating the passage; as she passed, the torches extinguished, leaving only darkness behind her. Without the human in tow, her pace quickened. She reached the end of the tunnel, where irregular stone stairs led upward a mere seven feet. Shayala ascended and, using rungs bolted into the stone, raised and moved aside the solid sandstone block to emerge beneath a waystation a mile from the castle.

  Similar in design and furnishings to other such structures in the central Court, it contained simple trappings and no side rooms; however, no living human victuals were present. The headless body of a male strigoi, with much of his torso dissolved by melted silver, was chained to the far wall. The head that lay nearby had half its face burned away.

  The sole occupant in the room did not start at Shayala’s appearance. The only movement was to shift her cold, dark purple eyes to focus upon the queen. Above a steel gorget, stamped with an encircled pupilless eye, elegant features contrasted with her severe expression. Once she moved, her deceptively lanky figure belied the fluidity of her gait.

  With a salutational nod, Shayala said, “Report, Lyan.”

  “The scouts have reported no unusual movement by the soldiers of Court H’shu along the eastern border, Your Majesty, nor along the southeast. Some small incursions of nosferatu have been observed but nothing beyond the ordinary.”

  Shayala nodded again.

  Lyan indicated the tortured strigoi. “A spy from Court H’shu. I was unable to overcome the restrictions of his enthrallment, but evidence indicates Court H’shu is not involved.”

  Queen Shayala was at her in an instant, standing threateningly before her. “I will draw my own conclusions, Spy Marshal.”

  Shayala glanced downward at Lyan’s hand moving away from the hilt of a dagger. A knowing look passed between the two, and both offered a smile of genuine affection. The spy marshal’s smile also held a somber note—understanding of the burden demanded by this crucial endeavor to which Shayala was now committed.

  Calming, Shayala nodded. “No doubt your informants in King H’shu’s Court confirm that conclusion.”

  Lyan nodded deferentially in return.

  Shayala continued, “If a significant deployment occurs within Court H’shu, or if any soldiers breach our borders, inform me or Captain Halura immediately.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “The traitors grow restless and desperate; their strike is imminent.” Shayala paused. “As you no doubt know, the palace coup will occur during the Noble Conclave.”

  Lyan showed no surprise at the news.

  “Once the insurrection begins,” continued the queen, “Captain Halura will assume command of those who survive, but no counterstrike is to occur until I give word.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “You will be my intermediary, Lyan. Institute standard cyphers and primary sign and countersign protocols. Ensure the appointed site is monitored. I will deliver any messages or instructions there.”

  With a portentous grin, Spy Marshal Lyan bowed. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

  Queen Shayala grasped the other’s left shoulder with an affectionate squeeze. Satisfied, Shayala withdrew whence she came, sliding the stone back into place, though she did not follow the tunnels back toward Castle Ky’lor.

  *****

  Queen Shayala lay embracing and entwined with Princess H’shu in the bedchamber of a small, isolated villa the queen maintained in the east-central forests of her Court. The two strigoi rested atop a mattress of water-filled human bladders within a wooden frame, covered in cream-colored sheets. A pole-mounted oil lamp sat in each corner; a palpable musk from their feeding hung close in the air. Other than their conversation, the only sound was the muffled groaning of several humans around the bedding.

  “The Courts have been ruled by kings for far too long,” Shayala said. “It is time for another queen, Highness.”

  The other looked warmly at Shayala before responding. “A situation you seem intent to change. But you speak light of weighty matters. H’shu is my master and king—and my father.”

  “I mean only tumultuous times are upon us, and position is ever uncertain in such times. After all, I myself ascended after the tragic loss of a king. Were it to come to pass, by some unforeseen tragedy, that Queen H’shu sat upon the throne, the Court would surely benefit.”

  “Court H’shu or Court Shayala?”

  With a smile, the queen responded, “Both, of course.”

  Princess H’shu returned the smile as she rolled atop the queen.

  Day 8: Night

  Queen Shayala stood, once again, within Haluth’s cluttered laboratory. With a sweep of his hand, the Magificer felled a stack of parchments from atop a chair to provide a seat for the queen. The acridness of smoke and chemicals still hung in the air.

  Haluth reclaimed a necklace from the neck of a strigoi who sat restrained and dejected upo
n the floor and offered it to Shayala. “Your Majesty, I am pleased to report it functions flawlessly.” As an afterthought, he retrieved, from between two bookshelves, a long-shafted battle axe with a single, crescent-shaped blade and beheaded the strigoi, thus eliminating the only witness to the effect of the necklace. “And it has the added benefit of disguising your hair, eyes, and eyeteeth. Regrettably, we have not the time to test it upon your person.”

  “Yes, it is unfortunate our enemies are not more considerate of our schedule,” Shayala said in a rare expression of droll humor. “But, be assured, your regret would not long trouble you, Magificer. If it does not function, although I will be no more, Lyan will ensure that you, too, cease to be.”

  The settings tinkled softly as Shayala removed her necklace. She replaced it with the identically appearing one Haluth had provided.

  The transformation was nearly instantaneous. The black of her eyes receded into the jet dot of her pupils, leaving dark brown irises and the white of the sclera. Her fangs appeared to blunt and retract into her upper jaw. The sheen of her nails lightened from the color of charcoal to a fleshy pink. Her deep purple hair faded into the black of soft, tight curls. Even the severity of her features softened, leaving her with an alluring sensuality but absent the accompanying ferocity. Shayala herself felt nothing of the change.

  Haluth did not try to hide his surprise—which arose not at the success but at her appearance—though he did conceal his disgust at her “human” visage behind an ingratiating smile. “Then neither of us has anything to fear, Your Majesty,” said he as he passed her a hand mirror of leaded glass.

  Shayala stared at an image she had not seen in over a century and had thought to never see again. She touched a finger to the tip of an eyetooth, feeling its sharp point, though the image in the mirror seemed to show her finger hovering below a normal, human canine tooth. She gazed into her own changed eyes for several moments before nodding approval and laying the mirror aside. If she looked too long, she feared becoming lost in memories of a time that was no more than dream.

  Shayala doffed the necklace, and her appearance reverted just as quickly as its previous change; she re-donned her mundane jewelry. Haluth relaxed at the return of her proper cast.

  “Please do be careful of the item, Your Majesty. I was able to fabricate only the one. Its materials and components are rare and exceedingly difficult to acquire.” Turning, Haluth grasped a black iron brand upon the table. “The only matter remaining is that of the rune. It will add to the authenticity of your disguise. You can apply it once you are beyond the Court.”

  Shayala thought for a moment before saying, “No, my healing from the mark itself or from its removal will only draw suspicion. My tale will have to suffice. If not, I will slaughter them all and find another, more credulous, group.”

  “As you say, Your Majesty,” Haluth conceded. “I await your return.”

  *****

  Princess H’shu lay beside King H’shu upon a pile of furs and silken coverlets, surrounded by several living but dazed humans. The princess’s boudoir, accessible through only a series of secret doors, was appointed with luxurious furnishings and portraits depicting other notables of the H’shu clan. An enormous crown chandelier provided lighting, and the redolence of musk hung heavily in the still air of the room.

  “You have heard the rumors of a plot against Queen Shayala?” asked the princess.

  “You know our spies report as much,” responded King H’shu. He was an unusually tall and muscular strigoi. His almond-shaped, silver eyes were piercing and alert, missing no detail, and his mien projected pride and confidence. Both his medallion and ring were engraved with the H’shu insigne: the frontal view of a wolf’s skull, its cranium pierced by a downward-pointing sword.

  “Can they succeed, Father?”

  “That is not an easy question to answer. The queen has many enemies who, if they underestimate her cunning and resolve, will surely be destroyed. Do not forget that King Thyse himself named her his successor, something he would never do lightly. Within her first century upon the throne, she conquered the Courts of Nassum and Lynar. However, those very victories have made many of established title apprehensive, believing her too ambitious in her overreach for power.”

  Rolling aside, King H’shu took a draught from the thin neck of a human female. He wiped his lips, then continued, “Nor does she abide by all Courtly traditions, showing no respect for the customs and conventions of the aristocracy. One of her first acts as queen was to banish all courtiers and other power- and influence-seekers from her side. This was a source of consternation for those who lost their influence, but it was a symbolic message to the masses that she respects industriousness and competence, not fawning parasites.”

  “Such courtiers are not without their uses,” Princess H’shu said in a petulant tone that almost sounded defensive.

  “Perhaps the customs of Court have evolved around their presence. They can certainly be used and manipulated to the benefit of a clever ruler. But lastly, regarding your question, do not overlook the growing scarcity of potable humans. Whether Queen Shayala is at fault or not, this has occurred under her rule, and many will blame her.” After a thoughtful pause, he added, “Our supply is not decidedly better than Court Shayala’s.”

  He stroked the Princess’s cheek. “However, regardless of the outcome of the coup, if the victor is sufficiently weakened, we will be poised to overcome them.”

  Now, Princess H’shu smiled and called for more human fare to be brought in as she rolled atop the king.

  Day 8: Light

  “Where is the queen?” Munar shouted at Castellan Corvyne, outside the latter’s offices. Corvyne’s staff hurried upon their business—moving about, shuffling parchment, writing requisitions, completing forms—as if oblivious to the exchange.

  “I don’t know, Your Grace, I—”

  “The Conclave is set to begin.” Munar’s tone betrayed some nervousness, and he said in a lower tone, “Could she have some inkling…?”

  “Impossible, Your Grace. I will—”

  Interrupting again, Munar said, “Have your underlings search the castle. I will go to the queen’s chamber myself.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” But Corvyne had spoken to the duke’s back, as Munar had already stomped off, his cape trailing.

  Soon after, without Queen Shayala’s private chamber, Duke Munar stood before two sentries, who wore steel gorgets embossed with the queen’s insigne, identifying them as members of her personal guard.

  “I must see the queen.”

  “Her Majesty is not to be disturbed,” responded one guard in an even tone, unimpressed.

  “I am the duke, and I command you to admit me.”

  Had the guards any humor within them, they would have laughed; rather they stood impassive and unresponsive. The duke’s voice, however, did alert Captain Halura, who appeared around the corner, flanked by four other soldiers. The four tapped the butts of their glaives upon the ground in rhythm with their synchronous steps, creating a menacing echo in the stone corridor.

  “Your Grace,” began the captain, stopping only a pace from the duke. “Her Majesty was explicit, and she did not allow for exceptions. I would be happy to relay your displeasure over the inconvenience Her Majesty has caused you.”

  Without betraying any affect, but standing straighter and injecting all the authority and dignity of his title, Munar replied, “Relay to Her Majesty the principals are assembled and the emissaries have arrived. Her Noble Conclave awaits her pleasure.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Halura replied, without a bow.

  Duke Munar turned and left.

  *****

  Queen Shayala returned to her private chamber through the same tunnel from which she had exited the prior day. She placed her new gold-and-amethyst necklace within a drawer and noted immediately the human’s carcass had been removed.

  Exiting through the chamber door, she nodded to Captain Halura, who waited in
the vestibule, and motioned for two guards to accompany her to the council chamber in the heart of the keep.

  The queen entered the chamber from a door at one end of the room; a second door was situated in the opposite wall. Braziers upon either side of the room offered light, a faint crackling from the flames, and the scent of lavender from an added aromatic. The walls were lined with depictions of the heraldic designs of the nobility throughout the millennia; above the door through which she had just entered was the four-fangs-on-a-rising-full-moon emblem of Queen Shayala herself.

  Around an oval ebony-wood table eleven figures already stood. Duke Munar was at the end opposite the queen. To her right stood Castellan Corvyne, followed by an aide to the castellan, two others whom Shayala did not recognize—though by the look of their features and jewelry, they were not members of her Court—and Baron Hyr. To her left were Countess Sashal, Count Volroy, Earlress Ralyr, Earl Othor, and Baroness Alorn.

  Once the queen sat, so too did the others, while her guards assumed positions to either side of the door from which she entered. The queen looked at the assorted nobles, and her gaze settled upon Castellan Corvyne, who referenced a parchment before him.

  “Firstly, Your Majesty,” said the castellan. “We have with us two emissaries from the Southern Courts.” Gesturing toward the two unknown to Shayala—a swarthy male and female strigoi—he introduced, “Emir Azhum and Emira Jubyra.”

  The resemblance of the two was that of a brother and sister. Although their features were similar to those of Shayala, their eyes were more almond-shaped and their noses thinner. Nor were their complexions quite as dark as the queen’s, though they were several shades darker than anyone else in the room. Unlike strigoi of the Northern Courts, these wore piercings in their nostrils and ears.