The Moroi Hunters Read online

  Not long thereafter, another enclosed, windowless carriage, pulled by three horses and driven by a blank-eyed human male, came upon the waystation and stopped before the encircled soldiers.

  Princess H’shu and two guards alighted from the coach. As always, she carried herself with the bearing of one skilled in the art of ignoring those she considered beneath her. Yet the mischievous glint in her eyes conveyed the subtlest hint of attainability. Her severe guards bore longswords and steel gorgets that bore the mark of Court H’shu.

  Without acknowledging the soldiers, they strode between the two sentries. Both soldiers stepped aside to provide H’shu ample room to pass.

  H’shu was greeted by a smiling Duke Munar as she entered. “Ah, welcome, Your Highness.”

  “Your Grace,” she returned.

  Munar extended a hand toward the side room. “Please.”

  Both withdrew, and Munar closed the door behind them.

  The side room, a mere five paces on a side, held a single table and four chairs.

  Now, Princess H’shu returned his smile. “And judging by your presence here, soon to be ‘Your Majesty.’”

  Munar’s grin grew even wider in answer.

  “So the queen is no more, then?” H’shu asked.

  “Burned in the dusk light. Our soldiers would have reached her within a matter of moments and cut her down. She became desperate and fled before the sun had fully set. In the end, she was naught but a craven. Specialists are confirming the identity of the corpse as a formality, but I saw her burn myself. The queen is dead.”

  “And the castle?”

  “My soldiers were clearing the last remnants of resistance. I expect, by the time I return, none will remain who are loyal to the erstwhile queen.” As he spoke, the duke guided the princess toward the table and, bending her over, entered her.

  She offered no resistance.

  “And what of our arrangement?” she asked, resolve in her voice.

  Munar continued to speak as he thrust. “Your father will never arrive for my enthronement. When next we meet, I will be king, and you queen.”

  “How?”

  “All will be arranged. They shall have instructions not to harm you. But when the attack comes, keep yourself far from him.”

  “How will I know?”

  “There will be no mistaking it.” He remained quiet for several moments, continuing to thrust, then said, “Perhaps we can revive the ancient nuptial ritual, creating a combined Court larger than the North has ever known.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” H’shu moaned. “A single Northern Court.”

  Munar finished and backed away, allowing H’shu to stand. “We must be off if we are to return before light.”

  “Until then, Your Majesty,” H’shu said.

  “Until then, Your Majesty,” Munar returned.

  *****

  The soldiers of the rebellious nobles roamed the castle, eliminating any who were loyal to Queen Shayala. However, save for those few who were caught unaware and trapped when the drawbridge was raised, most such loyalists had escaped beyond the walls.

  Moving quickly throughout the keep, Corvyne avoided the dead and wounded cluttering the passages. The vinegary smell of strigoiic blood replaced the formerly preeminent smell of musk from their feedings. Bodiless heads and headless bodies were strewn in a carnal jumble. Others were merely maimed, with severed limbs or partially cloven necks where their gorgets had interrupted the path of a blade. Those of the injured who were loyal to the duke would be permitted to heal, while the others were summarily dispatched. Corvyne did note some who wore the two-towered insigne of the castle guard were among the dead. Still, the carnage was not as extensive as he would have imagined.

  Within a lower passage of the keep, he encountered the subject of his search: Seneschal Lyuth, overseeing the retrieval of the bodies of those under his command. As he approached, Corvyne greeted the other. “Seneschal.”

  “Castellan,” Lyuth returned.

  “I see members of the castle guard among the dead,” Corvyne stated flatly.

  “Regrettably, despite my order to remain uninvolved, some allowed their loyalty and affection for the queen to overrule their duty.”

  “They might argue they were doing their duty.”

  Lyuth chose to ignore the provocation. “These are confusing and trying nights. I trust no reprisals will be forthcoming.”

  “Providing they understand their duty, I see no reason to press the issue. The perpetrators are dead, after all.”

  “Yes, yes, they are,” Lyuth confirmed.

  “Very well, the matter is closed. I do require a service of you, however. Have your soldiers gather all the heads of the deceased, so an accounting can be made of the toll.”

  “Right away.” Lyuth immediately began issuing orders.

  *****

  Hunted by four soldiers, Captain Halura and the guard flew westward, toward the cover of the trees. Upon reaching the forest line, Halura turned to confirm only four enemies still pursued them. Even without the complication of pursuit, Halura doubted they could make the rendezvous point by daybreak, and they certainly would not with it. The night was well lit by the ample moonlight.

  “Nalyr, move right,” Halura instructed once they passed into the forest. “We make our stand here.” With a quick glance at the captain, yet without a word, Nalyr broke right to take position to the rear of Halura yet within sight of the captain. The trees at this edge of the thick woods were younger than those deeper within. The distant hooting of owls echoed among the boles as the birds hunted their own prey.

  Their pursuers reached the forest eaves. Having lost sight of their prey, they arranged themselves in a line and stalked into the forest, following their quarry through scent and sight. Discerning no sounds of flight through the understory, they concluded their quarry lay in wait.

  Hazarding a glance around the trunk, Nalyr noticed the hunters were nearer Halura’s position. To draw them away, she stepped from behind the tree, immediately drawing the attention of two, who broke off to engage her. Once battle was joined, the melodies of the forest were overwhelmed by the primal sounds of combat.

  As she faced two opponents, Halura intended to disable one quickly, which would allow her to concentrate upon the second. Although she would have preferred to allow the soldiers to approach nearer her position, Halura, using the momentary distraction provided by Nalyr, charged and slashed the shoulder of the nearest soldier. The cut sizzled and stung the ochre-haired strigoi but was not debilitating. Halura moved continually to prevent from being flanked, keeping the wounded soldier in line to block the other. Over the torn shoulder, she could see the second strigoi’s intent, pearly eyes beneath his charcoal hair.

  Nalyr glimpsed only the start of Halura’s charge before she was herself engaged. She retreated to keep a wide tree between herself and her opponents. As they circled the trunk in opposite directions, Nalyr crouched with her back against the bole. When the attackers came into view, she lunged, managing only a glancing strike to the leg of a burgundy-eyed enemy, who did not fall. Immediately, Nalyr stood and turned, parrying a swing from the other, taupe-haired attacker.

  Halura swung and parried, remaining in constant motion. The soldier with the wounded left shoulder was on her right. Halura unleashed a flurry against him, favoring attacks against his left side to force him to turn his body and partially impede the other attacker. She thrust into his chest, just below the gorget, dropping him to his knees. Although the wound was not mortal, he was incapacitated.

  Backed against the trunk, Nalyr fought desperately but began to slow from her numerous cuts and nicks. She knew she could not prevail, and Halura would be left to face alone four opponents. In a final, reckless act, Nalyr sprung at the unwounded soldier, impaling him, yet being impaled herself. The limping soldier struck her from behind, cutting through the base of her skull, above her gorget. As Nalyr’s corpse fell, the impaled soldier similarly slumped to the ground.
/>   Halura had no doubt she would overcome her second opponent, but could she do so quickly enough to go to the aid of Nalyr? Concern drove her to carelessness, resulting in a deep cut to her abdomen. She endured the wound and cut the sword arm of the nacreous-eyed attacker. She brought her sword around, beheading the strigoi, whose damaged arm could not respond in time to parry. Halura retrieved the slain soldier’s sword and finished her disabled opponent.

  Finally, Halura looked toward Nalyr to see her headless form leaning against another, slumped body. The limping soldier, with glaring, dark eyes, approached the captain. Despite her wound, Halura moved to engage this enemy. Taking advantage of his limited mobility, she made short work of him. She left his headless body in her wake before finishing the taupe-braided soldier whom Nalyr had impaled. With the end of the battle, the night song again came to dominate the forest sound.

  Although strigoi could not bleed to death, a significant loss of blood would cause them to slip into a feral state. Although her blood loss was not yet so severe, she needed a period of inactivity and an infusion of blood to expedite healing. She started toward the nearest waystation.

  As she approached, she hid by the trees beyond the structure to determine if anyone was present. She waited for some time; as she contemplated whether or not to simply enter the safe house, two strigoi emerged to scan the area surrounding the station. They wore gorgets that bore the emblem of Duke Munar. Halura retreated as quickly as possible, for they would surely notice the scent of her blood. She moved deeper into the forest, pushing through undergrowth, her skin registering neither the tickle of leaves nor the scratch of twigs. She made her way loosely to the southwest, for she recalled a village in the vicinity, just over the border, into the Barony of Hyr.

  With her steps faltering and the wounds from the silver-bladed weapons stinging and burning, she had difficulty concentrating on any matter other than the immediacy of finding a place to rest and heal. She could not allow herself to die, for her death would mean she had failed her queen.

  Halura wandered for some time before she glimpsed the collection of simple, one- and two-story stone structures beyond the trees. She circled the village to determine if she could discern any signs as to the disposition of the inhabitants. In the mortar of one structure, despite the dark, she noticed a small obovate form whose narrower end curved slightly. The form appeared as a teardrop or fang but could have easily been an arbitrary mark inadvertently inscribed in the wet mortar. Encouraged, she continued to scrutinize the structure and was rewarded with a similar mark upon a different wall: the twin fangs of Queen Shayala.

  Halura dug a hole with her sword and buried her gorget and weapons by a distinctive tree. Mustering her strength, she walked as normally as possible to the door of the structure while keeping a wary eye upon the industrious villagers hustling about in the street. Upon the plain wooden door she rapped twice with her knuckles, then twice with the side of her fist. The door opened and she was greeted by a feminine face, whose stern expression was belied by the surprise in her cerulean eyes. Long, topaz hair framed that face above a thin, lissome frame.

  “State your purpose.” The strigoi’s eyes wandered to the captain’s wounds.

  “I serve the night,” Halura responded.

  The inhabitant’s demeanor softened, and she ushered Halura in, closing the door behind them. The entrance room held only a wooden table—upon which was a game board—with four wooden chairs around it; several doors led to adjoining rooms. In one such room, through a door ajar, Halura glimpsed an arsenal of silver weapons. The inhabitant led Halura to a room on the right, where the captain dropped roughly upon the floor.

  “What news?” the hostess asked.

  “I come from the castle,” Halura responded. “It is held by the duke, but hope is not lost. What news have you?”

  “I’ve heard nothing. We have been instructed to await word.”

  “I require nourishment and no more than two days of rest,” Halura said, wincing.

  “Of course.” The hostess retrieved two humans and provided them to Halura. Although unclad, the humans were relatively well tended but showed scars and red punctures upon their necks from continual feedings; they made no effort to resist. With a nod, she pulled a curtain across the door and left the captain to her privacy.

  *****

  Seneschal Lyuth entered the workroom in which Magificer Haluth studied the scorched remains of the combusted strigoi. Among those remains were pieces of distinctive jewelry, including the gold-and-amethyst necklace easily identified as belonging to Shayala. Haluth looked up at the other’s entrance.

  Without introduction, Lyuth began, “The duke shall return soon, and he will expect a report. What have your magicks told you, Magificer?”

  “They confirm it is the body of Queen Shayala.”

  Lyuth nodded in agreement. “My questioning of the witnesses has led me to the same conclusion.”

  The Magificer nodded.

  “Very well, I shall make the report.” Lyuth turned on his heel and exited the workroom.

  When Duke Munar returned, just before dawn, Lyuth and Corvyne were present to greet him in the foyer of the keep. The foyer extended upward for three stories, lit by crystalline chandeliers and decorated with tapestries two-stories in height. Servants lined the walls, and castle guards stood to either side of the doorways.

  “Greetings, Your Grace. I trust your excursion was productive,” Corvyne said, prying for information.

  Munar disregarded the statement. “The castle is secure?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Corvyne responded.

  “The castle guard has reestablished order,” Lyuth added. “We are taking count of how many were lost and their identities.”

  “Why? What do they matter? What of Shayala?” Munar asked.

  “Her Majesty was, unfortunately, lost, Your Grace,” Lyuth confirmed, sounding sincerely dejected. “I confirmed it myself.”

  Munar did well to hide his satisfaction. “That is truly unfortunate. Though some solace may be found in that the conspirators were also slain. The scoundrels Count Volroy and Baron Hyr.” Turning toward Corvyne, the duke said, “Castellan, call an exigent Conclave. We must ensure this tragedy does not result in chaos.” With a satisfied grin, he added, “And make all arrangements for my enthronement during the first estival full moon.”

  “Your Grace, that is just over a month—” Corvyne began.

  “Castellan, the first full moon of summer,” Munar reiterated in a firm tone. “Its congruity with my emblem is fitting. And dispatch heralds to relay the announcement, including to Court H’shu. His Majesty and Her Highness will be our special guests. Once I am enthroned, plan an inaugural celebration of my reign for the masses.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Without farewell, Duke Munar turned and, followed by his escort of guards, proceeded toward the right-hand doorway.

  Day 11: Night

  Captain Halura emerged, fully healed, from her convalescence. When she could not find her hostess within the home, she proceeded to a smithy that adjoined the house. There, she found her hostess busily forging a silver blade.

  A quick glance around the smithy told the captain that it was a standard example of its kind. A fire blazed within a large hearth, beside which lay a shovel and a pile of coal. Workbenches lined the sidewalls, and four anvils rested upon brick pedestals. A thinning film of vapor wafted from a trough. Although Halura could discern the scent of other metals, the smell of silver was most pronounced.

  “I thank you for your hospitality,” Halura said. “Though I would care to know whom I thank.”

  Without looking up from her hammering, the smith answered, “I am Lohrin. Though the only thanks I require is the death of Her Majesty’s enemies.” Despite her exertions, no fatigue troubled her, no sweat or strain marred her features; she had no pulse to quicken from her activity. Neither strigoi sweltered from the oppressive heat in such a confined space.

  “The h
umans did not survive,” Halura said.

  “They served their purpose,” Lohrin responded with a shrug, as if they were speaking about soiled bandages.

  “Again, I thank you, Lohrin. Though I must be away.”

  “The honor is mine, Captain,” Lohrin said.

  Halura looked askance at the smith.

  Moving toward the trough, Lohrin chuckled. “The face of Her Majesty’s captain of the guard is well known to us.” She plunged the blade into the trough, unleashing a sharp hiss—like a score of angry serpents—and a thick vapor.

  Halura grasped the other’s shoulder, a gesture that was returned in kind.

  “They will fall,” Halura assured her.

  The captain quit the home, retrieved her gorget and weapons, and proceeded southward at a run.

  Day 11: Light

  The surviving noble conspirators—Countess Sashal, Earlress Ralyr, Earl Othor, and Baroness Alorn—gathered in the council chamber, the very room where Count Volroy and Baron Hyr had been slain, to receive the duke’s announcement. Also present were Baronetess Hyluth and Baronet Halyr, who suddenly found themselves elevated to fill unexpected vacancies in the Noble Conclave. Although pleased at their rising station, they had heard rumors of how Shayala’s downfall had come to pass, and the knowledge that those in the room were capable of such betrayal was disturbing and frightening. Baronet and Baronetess both were conspicuous in their awed expressions and distinctly less ostentatious accouterments.

  The emblem of Queen Shayala, formerly situated above the royal doorway, had been replaced with that of the duke. However, the queen’s insigne had not been reassigned to the sidewall among the other heraldic designs, but was simply absent. All traces of the attack days earlier had been removed, and the lavender scent in the chamber was replaced by cinnamon.

  Despite their triumphant outcome, the import of what they had done, of that in which they were all complicit, was not lost upon the conspirators. Even now, the name of King Thyse commanded reverence—both publicly and in the privacy of their thoughts—yet they had undone his terminal decree: that Shayala was to succeed him. Whatever rationalizations each used to justify their involvement in the coup d’état, the fact of their victory and their rising fortunes did much to assuage any lingering guilt or doubts.