The Moroi Hunters Read online

  Arriving through the royal entry beneath his insigne, the duke appeared smug, satisfied, almost giddy—like a spoiled child who had harried his parents until they relented in the purchase of a horse too spirited for him to ride. He sat and scanned the faces around the oval table, savoring the deserved fear, respect, and power accorded him by the assembled nobles.

  Munar spoke. “A grave injustice has been set right. Through a series of unfortunate occurrences, the Court fell into the hands of one wholly unworthy for such an honor. However, with the will, courage, and righteousness of our cause, we have prevailed. Once again, the Court is set upon its proper course. As the one-time and, fortunately, short-lived queen had not named a successor, the crown, by right and law, passes to the principally titled among the peerage. One month hence, I shall be enthroned, and know that you shall all be rewarded for your loyalty.”

  The nobles offered resounding applause, and the duke grinned all the wider.

  Day 13: Night

  Castle H’shu sat upon a motte, carved from a shelf of black basalt atop an escarpment, at the base of a peak along the southern stretch of the Southern Littoral Mountains. Save for a single earthen ramp that ascended its center, the escarpment was sheer, with stone gatehouses at the base and brink. The castle’s outer wall rose from the lip of the shelf and enclosed the keep of Castle H’shu. The keep, constructed of the same black basalt, was an unfenestrated, six-story edifice, whose lateral walls blended seamlessly with the face of the mountain.

  Upon his arrival at the lower gatehouse, the envoy displayed the image of a small, rolled scroll upon his brazen medallion, identifying him as an official courier. A soldier-at-arms conveyed him to the upper gatehouse, where he was met by the summoned majordomo and escorted, with a contingent of guards, to the soaring audience chamber within the keep.

  Unlike the rectangular counterpart of Castle Ky’lor, the audience chamber of Castle H’shu was circular, two hundred feet in diameter. Its dome, supported by a ring of columns, culminated one hundred feet above the white marble floor. Thick candles hung from the columns, and heavy tapestries draped the perimeter to diminish echoes.

  Within the center of the chamber, directly beneath the crown of the dome, rose a pillar, thirty feet high and ten feet in diameter, upon which rested a large, simple chair of solid black basalt. Beside the Basalt Throne of King H’shu was the smaller, bejeweled throne of Princess H’shu. A bridge from the rear of the pillar connected to a balcony containing a doorway in the far wall, from which the king and princess would enter and exit, never touching the floor of the chamber. Before the royal pillar was a shorter pillar, twenty feet high, upon which petitioners would kneel and beseech the monarch.

  The room was crowded with courtiers, attendants, and petitioners. King H’shu listened to the excuses offered by a merchant of carriages and wagons as to why he was unable to remit the entirety of his taxes. The majordomo disengaged, leaving the courier with the guards, and approached an officious-looking male strigoi holding a stylus and wax tablet, upon which was written a list of names with various symbols beside them. The majordomo whispered to the scrivener—who nodded brusquely and made a notation beside the next name on the tablet—then rejoined the courier and accompanying soldiers.

  “I suggest you no longer allow your patrons to pay on credit,” H’shu rumbled. “I grant you a stay of one week to pay the balance of your taxes, with interest of twenty-five percent. If you fail do so, the Court will take possession of your inventory and other property to cover the cost of your debt.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I thank you,” sniveled the merchant, though he did not rise until given leave.

  As the petitioner descended the stairs from the pillar, the king looked to the scrivener, who announced, “Your Majesty, a courier from Court Shayala requests an audience.”

  “Granted,” King H’shu replied.

  Some of the waiting petitioners muttered and grumbled at the interruption, but none too loudly.

  The majordomo escorted the courier to the top of the shorter pillar, where both knelt and awaited acknowledgement to speak.

  “The message?” King H’shu asked.

  The courier began, “Your Majesty, Duke Munar regretfully informs you of the destruction of Queen Shayala.”

  Surprised and disbelieving whispers pervaded the chamber. The princess appeared astounded and dismayed by the news, though the king displayed no reaction.

  King H’shu allowed the murmuring to continue for several moments before commanding, without any elevation in the volume of his voice, “Silence.”

  The chamber stilled.

  To the courier, said he, “Continue.”

  “Your Majesty, Duke Munar respectfully requests your attendance at his enthronement, upon summer’s first full moon.”

  With no hesitation, King H’shu responded, “Inform the duke we shall attend.”

  Day 33: Night

  Beneath a cloudy sky, King and Princess H’shu embarked from the castle in a windowless coach and proceeded to Castle Ky’lor. An escort of coaches, carrying retainers, attendants, and guards, rolled before and behind the king’s carriage. Each coach, which flew a pennant emblazoned with the king’s insigne, was pulled by a quartet of horses and driven by a hunched, exhausted human trammeled to an elevated box seat. A brisk, cool wind rippled the pennants; the humans shuddered from the breeze, though the strigoi felt nothing.

  The caravan did not call upon any of the villages or towns it passed save to rest the horses or acquire fresh beasts; although strigoi afoot could travel a farther distance during the night, the coaches could travel nearly continuously by periodically changing horses. If a human succumbed, it was drained, destroyed, and replaced by another from among those penned within a barred carriage. Each night, scouts were deployed. Although King H’shu did not expect trouble, he always expected trouble.

  Day 38: Light

  When the train from Court H’shu arrived at Castle Ky’lor in the early morning, the travelers were greeted by the tormented screams of Kurl’s punishment. At the northern base of the motte, access beneath Castle Ky’lor was possible through a rectangular sandstone tunnel, at either end of which stood a portcullis-secured gatehouse. The outer gatehouse sat recessed within the sandstone tunnel to protect any strigoiic visitors from the inimical sun.

  As the leading coaches drove beneath the sheltering passage, Goy’ul announced the arrival of King H’shu to the soldiers stationed within. The guards had expected the visitors and promptly raised the portcullis at both the outer and inner gatehouses, allowing passage through the wide tunnel leading into the motte.

  The train came to stop within a vast staging area directly beneath the castle. Stonework reinforced the walls, and enormous columns supported the concrete-lined ceiling thirty feet above their heads. Organized collections of barrels, crates, and human-occupied cages filled demarcated spaces, ready for loading upon trading caravans or for distribution throughout the castle or to the market. The smells of textiles, lumber, and unwashed humans wafted from such spaces. Dim lighting was provided by numerous, smokeless oil lamps that hung upon the columns and the walls.

  Goy’ul disembarked from the coach, and Corvyne stood ready to greet him. “Captain.”

  “Castellan,” Goy’ul returned. He observed the stoic soldiers of the castle guard at regular intervals around the walls.

  Castellan and captain each placed his hand upon the other’s left shoulder in greeting. At a gesture from Corvyne, a veritable army of strigoiic servants moved to unload supplies and cater to the travelers. Soon, the sound of bustling valets added to the activity of laders within the echoing space.

  Goy’ul opened the door to King H’shu’s coach, and out stepped Princess H’shu. Goy’ul announced Her Highness, and Corvyne bowed formally. Next emerged King H’shu, to whom Corvyne bent his knee and descended as if kneeling. Yet his knee never touched the ground; at the nadir of his descent, Corvyne bowed his head before standing once again: Knee and ground
would only contact for his sovereign.

  King H’shu acknowledged the respectful gesture with a nod.

  “Your Majesty,” Corvyne began, “His Grace awaits to greet you formally within his grand chamber. The entire northern tower of the keep has been apportioned for you and your court. My valets will see to your needs and wants. May I show you to the audience chamber?”

  “Please, Castellan,” H’shu responded.

  Corvyne turned to lead, followed by Captain Goy’ul, King H’shu, Princess H’shu, and the king’s entourage. The band ascended a stone staircase at the northwestern corner of the area, passing a pair of sentries at each of four landings, and entered the keep proper, where the castellan led them through the many corridors to the audience chamber. There sat Duke Munar upon the Skeletal Throne.

  To sit upon the throne before his official induction was a breach of propriety, and King H’shu arched an eyebrow at such pretention.

  Corvyne announced King and Princess H’shu. Servants hurried about to set up the room for the impending ceremony.

  Munar descended the dais and approached the party. He bowed his head in formal greeting to King H’shu, before grasping the shoulder of the monarch—more pretentiousness, H’shu thought.

  The king’s guards tensed and gripped their sword-hilts at the duke’s effrontery. They relaxed only slightly when H’shu responded in kind to Munar’s gesture.

  To the princess, the duke offered a deeper bow at the waist. “Your Highness.” Looking to the king, he commented, “I trust your journey was not an arduous one.”

  “Wholly uneventful,” H’shu responded.

  “Excellent,” Munar said, smiling. “We are honored by your attendance at this historic occasion.”

  “It was not long ago, it seems, that I stood here for the enthronement of Queen Shayala,” H’shu said.

  “Yes, regrettably, the most tragic of circumstances has again brought you here,” Munar said in a voice full of sorrow. “The perpetrators of this most heinous crime, Count Volroy and his associate Baron Hyr, have received justice.” At the mention of the baron, Munar scrutinized H’shu to discern any reaction, though he perceived none. “Her Majesty’s bones now grace the Skeletal Throne.” He gestured behind him to the additional adornments: a blackened skull and paired ribs, prominent against the bleached white of the other bones.

  “She was a worthy successor to King Thyse,” King H’shu replied.

  “The feast will begin at dusk,” Munar continued, pointedly sidestepping the comment as to Shayala’s worth. “For the occasion, I have imported darker humans from the south. My cuisinier assures me when they are gorged with his proprietary selection of feed, you will find their blood assumes a subtle, savory flavor. It is quite the delicacy.”

  “Ah, I do look forward to sampling it,” King H’shu said.

  “Your Majesty does have the reputation as quite the gourmand,” Munar said. “I must apologize, however, there is yet much to do to prepare. Castellan Corvyne will show you to your rooms and announce when all is in readiness.”

  “Of course. Congratulations, Your Majesty,” King H’shu offered, and Corvyne directed them to the north tower.

  *

  Several hours later, King H’shu was engrossed with Captain Goy’ul in a competition of Three Armies, a board game in which two players each commanded three sets of pieces: one set controlled by dice, one set controlled by cards, and one set subject to prescribed patterns of movement. Princess H’shu sampled upon an assortment of humans, which Corvyne had had delivered for refreshment. A guard partook of each human, ensuring its blood was pure before the princess was permitted a taste. Although the royal hemalier, a steward of human bloodlines, had carefully selected the humans for their lineages and varied flavors, they were wasted upon the princess, who thought only of the fact that her father still sat not far from her, playing a game—a game!—though he had just survived an assassination attempt.

  Princess H’shu was uncertain which frustrated her more: that her father was seemingly so nonchalant about the attack, or that he had indeed survived it. She violently shoved the human upon which she fed, sending him halfway across the commodious suite. “I’m bored,” she declared as she stood and walked to the door.

  “Where are you going?” King H’shu asked, annoyance creeping into his tone at the distraction from his game.

  “I’m going to explore the tower.”

  King H’shu’s expression was unreadable as he looked upon his daughter. “Very well, but Captain Goy’ul and a detachment of guards will accompany you.”

  The captain stood immediately and motioned to four other guards.

  “That’s not necessary, Captain. I’m capable of finding my way,” replied the princess.

  Goy’ul turned to the king, who glared in even greater annoyance at the captain. Goy’ul immediately snapped to attention and looked past the princess to the door.

  “There was already one attempt upon our lives.” King H’shu added in a shrewd tone, “And who’s to say you were not the target as much as I?”

  “Very well,” harrumphed the princess. She could not protest too vehemently without arousing suspicion. She exited, followed by Goy’ul and the honor guard.

  Two attendants—provided by Castellan Corvyne for the convenience of the guests—stood beyond the chamber. As the princess exited the suite, they assumed respectful attention. When the door closed behind her, the princess, with the full force of royal haughtiness, ordered of the attendant to her right: “Fetch the duke.”

  The attendant withdrew expeditiously to locate the castellan. In no wise would he disturb Duke Munar while he prepared for his enthronement. The princess and her honor guard rambled throughout the tower. After a half hour, Corvyne appeared, ascending a stone staircase.

  “Ah, Your Highness.” Corvyne bowed, pressing his right hand across his abdomen and holding his left hand out from his body. “You wished to speak to me?”

  “I requested the duke,” H’shu responded, not hiding her contempt.

  “Your Highness,” Corvyne replied, “His Grace is overly occupied with the preparations for this night. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

  “Castellan, do not force me to take this matter to my father. Instruct the duke I wish to speak to him, presently.”

  Corvyne looked hard at the princess, wondering what game she was playing.

  “Castellan, it would be a shame to begin King Munar’s reign under such unpropitious and antagonistic circumstances,” H’shu continued.

  “Your Highness…” Corvyne began, though he never completed the thought, unsure himself what he intended to say. Then: “Yes, Your Highness. I will request His Grace meet you in the reception hall upon the fourth floor at his earliest convenience.”

  “As long as his convenience is now.”

  With a perfunctory bow, Corvyne departed.

  Throughout the entire exchange, Goy’ul and the other guards stood expressionless, as if unaware that a hushed conversation even took place. The princess descended the stairs that would take her to the fourth floor. Silently, her entourage followed.

  The hall contained busts of notable strigoi, set upon pedestals and wrought in marble or gold. During the hour that Princess H’shu awaited the duke, she inspected those statues, trying to distract her mind from her thriving impatience. Two of her guards stood stoically at the entrances, and Goy’ul shadowed the princess from the wall opposite to wherever she stood.

  Duke Munar came into the hall at a leisurely gait. This was his castle and he would not be summoned like some servant. He was accompanied by the newly promoted Captain Torin and four others of the ducal guard.

  “Your Highness,” Munar greeted upon entering, offering a reserved bow. He motioned for his guards to remain at a respectful distance. In a normal speaking voice, yet loudly enough for all to hear, he continued, “I earnestly apologize for the delay. I was involved in a matter I simply could not leave undone.”

  Whispering for only
Munar’s ears, she retorted, “If only you were so diligent in all your efforts.”

  Although he was certain of the answer, in a tight, strained voice, he asked, “Why have you requested to speak to me?”

  “I was assured we would have occasion to celebrate a second coronation.”

  The change in his countenance and demeanor from politely ingratiating to barely constrained furor was instantaneous. “Are you mad?” Munar uttered in a harsh whisper. “You would discuss such a thing here?”

  She knew her impatience had led her to a grave error in judgment. Using her anger at his tone to burn away her embarrassment, she began, “You will—”

  “Princess!” Munar interrupted, too loudly, then quickly lowered his voice. “Do not make me further question your wisdom.” Without waiting to see her reaction, he turned and tramped away, his thoughts a tumultuous storm as his guards fell into step behind him.

  Settling for a hateful growl, she nearly shouted in anger at his departing form.

  *

  As the distance and time from his meeting with the princess passed, Munar’s wrath chilled to a cold calculation. Derisively, Munar thought, Corvyne was a grandmaster strategist in contrast to Princess H’shu. Her stupidity and naivety was far more dangerous than the intelligence and cunning of King H’shu. He could no longer afford to uphold his bargain with the princess. King H’shu would remain, but his daughter would not.

  Day 39: Night