The Moroi Hunters Page 9

  Shortly after gloaming, a heavy knock sounded upon the door of King H’shu’s suite. H’shu and Captain Goy’ul continued in their contest of Three Armies. With an obvious glance of displeasure at the game board, Goy’ul rose and opened the door. Without stood Castellan Corvyne.

  “Greetings, Captain,” Corvyne began.

  “Castellan,” Goy’ul returned.

  “The time of the enthronement approaches,” Corvyne continued. “At your convenience, I shall escort His Highness to the event.”

  “Of course. We shall be disposed momentarily,” Goy’ul replied.

  King H’shu rose, unleashed a hearty laugh, and addressed Goy’ul. “Come, Captain. All is not lost. Consider your next strategy while we sup.”

  Corvyne conveyed King H’shu, Princess H’shu, and their retinue of guards to the audience chamber. Save for a smattering of castle guards, the halls were empty.

  As they progressed, King H’shu turned to his daughter and whispered, “Your meeting with the duke did not go well?”

  The princess affected a look of confusion, though she immediately realized that any denial was hopeless; Goy’ul would have told the king all he saw. She replied, “It’s nothing, Father. Even the nobility of this Court is hardly above the peasantry.”

  “Hmm,” the king mumbled noncommittally.

  The audience chamber now contained an enormous table holding dozens of entrapped, dark-skinned humans. Upon the dais, King H’shu sat on a second throne, this one smaller than the Skeletal Throne and carved from a solid piece of white marble. Princess H’shu was escorted to a seat at the table between Countess Sashal and Earl Othor. Also present were Earlress Ralyr, Baroness Alorn, Baronet Halyr, Baronetess Hyluth, several other minor nobles, and their closest attendants and advisors. The balconies and galleries thronged with guards and spectators.

  Duke Munar entered without pomp from a rear door, accompanied by Captain Torin and a score of soldiers. Once he settled upon the Skeletal Throne, all others took their seats. The soldiers surrounded the base of the dais. Lining the walls of the chamber were members of the castle guard, under the command of Captain Syuth, formerly of the ducal guard.

  Chained to the floor beside each throne was a dusky human, bred for both compliance as well as flavor. Munar pulled the docile human nearest him toward his mouth, sinking his canines into the human’s neck. Once the duke began to feast, all others followed, and the room became permeated with conversation and the overwhelming aroma of sweet musk. A taster ensured the safety of each course before either King H’shu or Princess H’shu began to dine.

  The king looked to Munar. “Delectable, Your Grace. Compliments to your cuisinier.”

  “I’m honored, Your Majesty,” Munar responded, with genuine pride. “I’ll have him provide your attendant with the recipe.”

  H’shu turned his gaze to the right, catching the expectant stare of an attendant near a side entrance to the chamber. At the slightest nod of H’shu’s head, the attendant opened the door and motioned without. Another attendant entered, holding in one hand a leash connected to a harness that was borne by a figure in a heavy black cloak. In his other hand, the attendant held a small golden box.

  Munar observed their approach and felt a hungry smile form upon his lips.

  “Your Grace,” H’shu began, “I am pleased to present to you these gifts to commemorate this day.”

  Munar waved up the attendant, who ascended the dais and drew the captive human behind him. The cloak covered the man from his short white hair to unshod feet; a large hood was drawn over his head, though Munar could still glimpse his chalky skin and light blue eyes. A small hole was cut in the front of the man’s cloak to allow the leash to connect to the harness worn beneath the cloak.

  “First, as you can see,” H’shu said, “an albino chattel.”

  Munar had heard that chattel salivated at the smell of food; if he could, he imagined he would have done the same at the thought of tasting such a rare morsel. The attendant handed the leash to Munar, who pulled the human upon his knees before him. The duke indicated that his taster should sample the gift.

  “Also,” H’shu added, and the attendant extended the golden box.

  Munar accepted the offering. Atop the box was his insigne, filigreed in gold. He opened it; within, set upon a bed of green velvet, was a clasp carved from deep green jadeite into the likeness of a curled dragon.

  “For your…cape,” H’shu said.

  Munar smiled widely. “Your Highness is too generous. Such craftsmanship and such a rare stone could purchase a castle—or two.” Munar closed the box, leaving the clasp within. Upon a gesture, a guard at the base of the dais mounted the stairs and received the box. Munar could not don the clasp until the Magificer had checked it for some form of magical trap or deception; he knew H’shu would understand.

  With a glance at his still-living taster, Munar grinned and, looking to H’shu, said, “Your Majesty, let us sample your gift.”

  *

  The din of conversation rose and fell throughout the meal.

  “Her Majesty will be woefully missed,” Princess H’shu said, directing the comment to no one in particular. Have I cast my lot with the wrong faction? For the occasion, H’shu had donned a bejeweled tiara.

  “She would have led us to ruin,” Earlress Ralyr answered from across the table, casting a hard look upon the princess. Ralyr’s mien and appearance, from her arrogant indigo eyes to her ferronnière, inlaid with a purple spinel, bespoke haughty aristocracy.

  “And you believe Munar will lead the Court to prosperity?” Princess H’shu asked. He owes his position to me. Although he has achieved his goal, he failed in his obligation to me.

  “King Munar is the rightful ruler, not some dry-fangs peasant wench,” Ralyr retorted, using the pejorative for a newly risen strigoi. Her tone was one of disdainful indignation, as if merely speaking of the former queen was offensive.

  “Some would say her swift rise and the confidence placed in her by King Thyse were proof of her worth and competence,” the princess countered. I should have realized Munar would never pursue my advancement with the same zeal as his own.

  “She did not want for ambition,” Baroness Alorn said in a calming tone. “But His Grace understands the ways of the Court. Our ways. Shayala was more suited to the customs of feral humans.” Unlike other female strigoi of the Court, the dulcet—in voice and appearance—baroness eschewed excessive jewelry, wearing only a glittering necklace shaped into the form of her insigne: sixteen different gemstones encircling an onyx tower with a platinum crescent moon affixed to the chain above.

  “And for all her greatness, where is she now?” Ralyr spat. “She is ash. We are here, and she is not.” After a brief pause, she added, “Likely she was responsible for the fall of King Thyse.”

  “Surely, now is not the time for such talk,” interjected Countess Sashal, adjusting a pearly hairnet she had added to her panoply of jewels and jewelry.

  “Every moment she sat upon the throne was an affront to us all,” Ralyr said.

  “My father always spoke very highly of her,” H’shu replied. Munar will suffer for his betrayal.

  She moved her gaze over the others, almost in challenge, though none would risk offense by gainsaying King H’shu. Alorn pointedly chose that moment to clamp her fangs into the neck of her human affixed within the aperture of the table.

  Princess H’shu continued, “I find it most incomprehensible that Count Volroy and Baron Hyr would have possessed the audacity and resourcefulness to undertake such a coup on their own.”

  That left the other conversationalists aghast; no matter the common awareness of such things, they simply were not discussed openly.

  Sashal opened her mouth, hoping to soothe tempers before relations between the Courts deteriorated. However, before she could speak, a look to the side of the chamber from Corvyne indicated the main course was completed. A legion of strigoiic butlers swarmed the room, effectively ending the conver
sation. The servants removed the exsanguinated humans to destroy their carcasses, then replaced them with the dessert course of wailing human infants.

  *

  Corvyne approached and knelt before the two enthroned forms before standing to address the assembly. “Worthy guests, His Grace offers his sincerest regrets at the loss of Her Majesty, Queen Shayala, to the treachery of her own subjects. However, her bones have joined those of her forebears and will forever adorn the Skeletal Throne to impart their wisdom upon all who follow.

  “Yet, loss begets fortune,” Corvyne continued, “for on this occasion, a new king is crowned.”

  He gestured to the side, and an attendant approached, bearing a silver-bladed dagger with an intricate, bejeweled hilt and a single fuller running the length of the blade. The attendant handed the dagger to the castellan, who ascended the dais. Kneeling, Corvyne handed the weapon to King H’shu.

  H’shu accepted the dagger and turned toward Munar, who stood to face H’shu. With formal deliberateness, H’shu drew the dagger over Munar’s heart, drawing blood and eliciting a slight hiss, a wisp of smoke, and the smell of burnt flesh. The duke did not flinch or make a sound. H’shu handed the dagger to Munar, who allowed the blood to drip upon the Skeletal Throne. Munar returned the ceremonial blade to Corvyne and faced the assemblage.

  King H’shu intoned, “His Majesty, King Munar.”

  All in attendance struck their fists upon the table in celebration.

  Munar nodded to H’shu before addressing the chamber, “As King of Court Munar, my first edict is to elevate Countess Sashal to Duchess, who will assume the domain encompassing this castle.”

  Sashal stood and the attendees again struck their fists upon the table.

  “Earlress Ralyr,” Munar continued, “is elevated to Countess, and Earl Othor to Count.”

  Both stood.

  “Baroness Alorn is elevated to Earlress, Baronet Halyr to Baron, and Baronetess Hyluth to Baroness.”

  The chamber filled with the sound of pounding fists. King Munar, with a satisfied, wolfish grin, settled back comfortably upon the Skeletal Throne as the nobles of Court Munar knelt before him and offered fealty.

  Part II

  Day 8: Light to Day 9: Night

  While the sun still reigned, Shayala covered a significant distance and, before it rose again, reached a waystation in the far west of her former Court, within the Barony of Hyr. As she ran, she took no notice of her changing surroundings, nor did she consider possible dangers of the forest. Even if her death were not believed, she needed not fear pursuit until nightfall. Her mind was preoccupied with the wonder of the sun upon her skin—although it did not immolate her, neither did she feel its warmth—and of the irrevocability of her course. Although certain redirections would surely be required, the overall trajectory could not be changed.

  Upon reaching the conventional safe house, she retrieved, from within a hollowed stone set into a wall, a bag of garments and other items. She donned a loose, sleeveless, unadorned, dun tunic dress, laced at the bodice and falling to her knees. To this, she added a cowled brown cloak, tight-fitting black gloves, and short black boots. Of all the queer human customs, that of wearing clothing was perhaps the most comical, she thought.

  Her mind turned toward what she had lost—only temporarily, she reminded herself. By now, the coup would be complete and her death confirmed. She had only to contact the feral humans. With her necklace, she could survive in the light. She could feign eating and sleeping—another eccentric human frailty—manipulate her diaphragm to simulate breathing, even pretend fatigue and the need to blink, but concealing her bloodthirst would require further effort, and failure to do so would bring defeat.

  She fastened a brown leather belt around her waist and slid two short stilettos, one with a blade of silver and one of steel, into the sheaths within her boots. Into a belt-pouch she placed three stoppered, silver vials encased in thin leather sheaths.

  The single human bound in this frontier waystation was near death. Shayala drew what nourishment she could from him before removing his head to prevent his rebirth into true life. She thoughtlessly disposed of the body among a tangle of thickets. Without further delay, she ran westward and soon crossed a simple beam bridge spanning the Pale River, which marked the boundary between the Court and the hinterlands.

  Several miles beyond the river, she slowed to take account of her surroundings and discern any sign of the feral humans. She could hear the beastly sounds and smell the untamed scents of wolves, owls, insects, and other sylvan denizens, though such creatures understood instinctually to avoid the attention of her kind.

  Night was in full beneath the thick arboreal canopy, though the gloom was no impediment to her sharp senses. She turned slowly, searching for any telltale spoor and examining the earth and underwood for any trace of human passage. However, no intimation revealed itself, and Shayala recommenced westward at a trot.

  After some time, she heard a feral growl that quickly drew nearer. Its roar was deep and gravelly, far more booming than that of a lupine, and its continued approach revealed it was no ordinary beast. She briefly considered the irony that the scheming of her Court might culminate in her end here, far from the center of her power and influence, by some beast. The creature was nearly upon her. Reaching to her right boot, Shayala retrieved her silver-bladed stiletto, intent that no such ignoble end would find her.

  Trampling through the shrubbery and thoughtlessly dismembering trees in its charge, emerged a frenzied brown bear with pupilless yellow eyes. It focused upon Shayala and rushed toward her, its teeth bared and its roar unceasing.

  Crouched, with her stiletto in her left hand, Shayala did not waver. At the last instant, she rolled to her right, stabbing into the foreleg of the moroi. Its momentum carried it forward before it could stop to turn. It did not seem to notice the wound in its leg, though it released an angry, unrestrained bellow, like an avalanche of boulders.

  Shayala cursed herself for not bringing a more formidable weapon. She doubted she could outrun the beast. She withdrew slowly, before retreating at full speed and sheltering behind the largest nearby tree. The moroi pursued her amain, impacting the tree with its right shoulder, unleashing another berserk roar.

  A quick thrust penetrated the beast’s side but, again, did no real damage. How long would it take to fell the beast with these trifling wounds?

  Shayala moved continuously, using the tree as a shield while avoiding paws that would easily send her head flying from her body. Retreating again, she ran to another tree and, with a leap, easily scaled its trunk.

  Again, the moroi uncaringly collided with the tree, shaking leaves from its boughs. The beast stood on its hind legs, stretching to its near ten-foot height. With long, curved claws, it dug deep furrows into the bole, though it still fell several feet short of Shayala’s perch. Free from immediate peril, Shayala considered the sleek and dangerous beast below and evaluated her options. The rancid smell of rotted meat emanated from its open maw, which was wide enough to easily engulf her head. Its fur was filthy and matted, and its strong incisors and long canines could pierce steel.

  The moroi was not to give her long respite, for it continually withdrew then leapt at the tree, colliding mightily, with forepaws upstretched. Shayala could feel the tree shift and knew it would not long withstand the assault. After the next impact, she leapt from her perch and, as she descended, implanted her stiletto into the crown of the beast’s skull. Simultaneously, it swung its right forepaw, connecting solidly with Shayala’s chest. The blow was accompanied by sharp cracking, and the unseated queen was thrown as unceremoniously as a doll to impact a tree. She fell limply to the ground.

  The moroi still stood, but the pain of the argent blade embedded in its brain turned the frenzy of the beast into madness. Shayala lifted her head and saw the beast was not done. Despite her battered body, her physiology did not obey the same biological laws as did that of humans. With ribs protruding both dorsally and ventr
ally, she forced herself upright and retreated with faltering steps, deeper into the forest. Given time, she would heal, as would the moroi if the blade were removed.

  Time: That was her last weapon.

  She had only to distract the beast until the sun rose. Normally, even the nonintelligent moroi instinctually recognized the lethality of that blazing sphere and would seek sheltering darkness, but pain and madness had driven it beyond such recognition. The beast did not immediately pursue Shayala. It swiped at the blade, trying to dislodge it but managing only to embed it deeper. Roaring in unrestrained agony—a roar that could be heard for miles—the moroi, at last, took up pursuit.

  Shayala continued weakly, negotiating the underbrush and searching for a suitable tree to await the dawn. With the moroi closing, she selected the best of the available options. With far less grace than her previous climb, she ascended a sturdy bole as the rampaging moroi emerged through a bramble. Its relentless charge tore the prickly shrub from the ground, adding yet more leaves and thorns to the collection already decorating its fur.

  Twenty feet above the verdant carpet, Shayala reposed upon a thick bough as the beast hectically clawed at, and barreled into, the bole. The moroi shook the tree and rent bark and trunk, but it had not the strength to put its full power behind the onslaught. Shayala was confident the tree would hold until the sun emerged.

  She had not long to wait for the sun’s glow to light the sky, and the mad moroi, which could not ignore the deadly might of that blazing orb, bolted. As the light penetrated the arborous ceiling, Shayala could hear its agonized cries, which ended abruptly before the sun crested the horizon.

  Day 9: Light

  As the impotent rays of the sun struck her skin, Shayala again marveled at the radiance that was death to her kind. Despite her broken body, she alighted from the tree and limped in the direction the ursine moroi had fled. She had no trouble following the swath cut through the foliage by the fleeing beast. Shortly, she came upon its incinerated remain, retrieved the stiletto from its blackened, cracked skull, and replaced the blade in her boot sheath. As the beast likely maintained a proximate lair, perhaps with access to bloody sustenance, she continued in a direct line from the carcass.