The Resurgence
Chapter 2: The Castle
Trennen stirred at the sound of crunching stone. Selik should be on his way up…likely furious to have found only a bat cave. But the sound seemed uneven, as if the vampire was having difficulty climbing. He looked at Ryszard. The vampire met his gaze with a mocking smile.
"Your jolt made him fall."
And your damn posturing sent him down there in the first place. He bristled in silence. Trennen could never think of why Lord Zephon had let the brute rise in rank. His sire valued an acute mind over raw strength. Ryszard was little more than a battle-scarred mongrel, obedient to a single master but only when its chain was taut. To everyone else he was a browbeater. And for that reason, fool, I practice my archery.
Whatever his smoldering thoughts, they ceased when a shadowed form crawled over the ledge. Normally he would have been overjoyed to no longer be stuck alone with Ryszard. This was not a normal time.
Selik's back hunched like a gargoyle, while his legs tottered as if he could barely keep his balance.
"Ah, this world is still here," he growled. "Destroyed…hideous."
Without intending to, Trennen nudged his horse backwards. The timbre of that voice might have been the same, but the cadence and pity were staccato and rasping.
"Selik?" He cursed the uncertainty in his own voice.
The vampire jerked his head and looked at him through hair made stringy with dried blood. Gashes lined his cheeks like tears or warpaint. Wounds like claw marks.
"You parasitic wretches live on, I see. Wretches wretches wretches!" the maddened vampire howled, his fury at odds with his rictus grin.
"Enough!"
Ryszard spurred his mount forward and drove a fist into Selik's smiling visage. The vampire stopped smiling; the blow knocked him to the ground. The older vampire regarded the fallen form. For the first time he could remember, Trennen believed he was concerned. And when Zephon flays you alive for this, I will most joyously play the fiddle to your screams.
Trennen dismounted and approached the figure, nerves on the brink of reeling back. When he neared, Selik lifted his head.
"Trennen?" the whisper almost sounded hopeful, and once more like the fledgling.
Gods, what happened to him? The vampire sat up and Trennen saw that his eyes were wide and he trembled in his leather armor.
"Help me, please, Trennen…"
He wondered if he had ever heard the vampire use the word before. It was such an uncommonly used word, only resorted to in times of desperation, such as begging for mercy. Perhaps that was what he was asking for.
The vampire was groping at the air as if blind. Against his better judgment, Trennen kneeled in front of him and reached to reassure him, to do something to ease his mind. The instant his skin touched, a hissing snarl came from the vampire and his eyes flashed green.
Trennen leapt to his feet at the same time as Selik, but he was quickly realizing this creature was not Selik. Possession? Impossible—ghosts and demons cannot possess us. At least, not that he had heard.
The green-eyed vampire careened as he stood. Blood trailed from his torn lip. Licking it away with his tongue, he shuddered and hissed again.
"Why?" he rasped.
He raised his bleeding hand to his mouth and sucked at the blood. Immediately the creature spat it out. When he spoke, his voice shook in disgust.
"Why do I have a taste for it, like you pathetic leeches? This revolting desire! Wretches!"
Selik was not tall or heavy-muscled, but as he began to stalk forward, the fury in his flaming green eyes belied any physical slight. On instinct, Trennen reached for his bow and arrows. He never had time to aim one, for Ryszard unsheathed his broadsword and smashed it across the back of Selik's skull.
The vampire went down, unconscious and bleeding. Even in sleep he was not quiet, as soon he whimpered and writhed. Ryszard swung from his courser's back and approached him.
"Gods."
"You made him go down there." The words flew from his traitorous tongue before he could stop them.
Wordlessly, Ryszard broke his nose. "The ranging ends now. We're going back to Zephon."
Trennen pressed a hand to his bleeding face, shaking in anger but not wanting to lose even more blood. And, as he admitted, Selik needed help. Lord Zephon would know what to do, he had to. He was Lord Zephon, the victor of so many battles through his cunning and sword. But will anything in the world help this one?
Ryszard picked up his writhing form. With what could almost be considered gentle for the vampire, he placed him on the back of Selik's mount. The horse snorted and sidestepped but quieted at a small slap to its chest. He managed to secure him in a sitting position. Of course, Selik's hands were tightly bound. Ryszard mounted his own courser, his eyes stormy. Likely thinking of how you'll explain this to Lord Zephon. "Oh, he just happened to start raving. Must've been the heat." Trennen followed suit and together they were off.
If the journey hereto had been taciturn, the ride back was funereal. Ryszard remained silent and brooding and Trennen felt no need to challenge him. He would one day, he was sure, once he was stronger. In the meantime, he kept a hand over his nose as it healed. He had no desire for a crooked nose. Contrary to wives' tales, he could see himself just fine in a mirror, and liked what he saw.
A few hours later Selik began to stir, though when Trennen looked at him he saw no recognition. Whatever had taken hold of the vampire seemed to have loosened its chains, for his eyes were again their golden color.
That did not give call for peace though. Selik no longer raved like a madman but took to mumbling incoherently. Off and on he muttered throughout the night and day.
Three nights later, Trennen swayed in his saddle. Thirst parched his mouth and hunger bit at his throat. The nighttime air was warm for this time of year. He felt it lulling him—the only sleep he had gotten was quick rests during the brightest part of the day. The sun was worst for the young. He was not so old, only thirty.
Ryszard rode up ahead and could not see him. Even then, the way the vampire acted now, Trennen wondered if he would care. He also wondered if anything more went on in the vampire's head than battle and blood.
His horse followed Ryszard's. He felt his eyes begin to close. But a low sound came to his ears. Trennen barely listened to it, until the subtle murmur was all he heard.
"Die Zeit ist fast hier. Bald, bald. Die Wölfe sterben und die Löwen haben ihre Rache. Vielleicht leben die anderen noch."
He twisted away from sleep. The tongue was Old Nosgothic. Trennen had barely heard it before, and seen it scarcely more in books. No one had spoken it as a common language in over half a thousand years, only to grant as names. It was something about time and wolves—he could not understand it.
Glancing over, he realized Selik was staring at him. Trennen grimaced. The other vampire's eyes glittered green.
"Wretch," it growled.
"Go to sleep, Wretch," Trennen replied, and sat up straighter in his saddle.
He had the distinct feeling that the creature was laughing at him. But he heard no more from Selik.
The next night they reached Ragnarok, Lord Zephon's main stronghold. A wall surrounded the city and the gates were thick wood and iron. It was a fortress—the buildings lacked the more delicate architecture found farther east, and the wide streets were intended for marching soldiers rather than commerce.
Ryszard reined up in front of the closed gate and bellowed up to the parapets for entry.
Trennen rolled his eyes. So undignified, you oafish lout. Go on, ride to your lord and beg for mercy. The brutish vampire had a fondness for the word "whelp." He was not even that much of a senior among the vampire ranks.
Nevertheless, the gates quickly opened and they trotted through. The city of Ragnarok was a cold one and not tempered at all by its inhabitants. It was also one of the most secure cities Trennen had ever entered. They had hardly damaged the walls during the siege.
Their horses' hooves rang over the stone pathways, heralding their arrival. They were not conquering war heroes—the scattered guards and weary training party hardly paused. Few seemed to be anywhere, really.
Trennen had always thought it strange that they still used lanterns in the streets. With eyes enhanced by vampirism, extra light was unnecessary. Still, some formalities must be observed.
They passed a second wall and crossed a drawbridge over a drained moat. At last they arrived in front of the castle entrance itself, the castle forming a three-sided square. The keep was the only part of the city that could be considered beautiful. The noble who inhabited the city prior to Lord Zephon apparently wanted more picturesque surroundings. As a result, the castle resembled a slab of marble amongst flagstone. The sloping architecture was boldly elegant, and tempered by pale stone and gardens. Inside, it could just as easily host a ball as house a small army.
In front of the castle doors stood Ghislain and Isana, presumably for a report. Though no vampire other than Kain remembered his human life, it was obvious the two vampires were related. They were almost exact twins, with Ghislain's shoulders broad and Isana's delicate. Both had cheekbones cut from ice and eyes like lurking falcons. Stories of their unplatonic liaisons had gone on for years, with little care except to dredge up old jokes and gossip.
For some reason, Lord Zephon favored them over many of his oldest. To heed the telltales, Lord Zephon took many lovers but Isana always returned to his bed. Sometimes with Ghislain. He knew some despised them, while others clamored for their approval.
Ryszard halted his courser at the bottom of the stairs.
"We need Lord Zephon," he stated.
Both vampires raised an aquiline eyebrow. Ryszard was notorious for refusing to show most signs of respect. Arrogant bastard.
"Never one to stand on formalities?" Ghislain asked, his face softening in a grin.
Trennen stared at his reins to keep from rolling his eyes.
Ghislain's smile fled when Selik began to hiss, muttering incoherently and biting at the leather binding around his wrists. And I do believe I've now seen a horse that wants to cry.
"As I said," Ryszard growled, "we need Lord Zephon."
Ghislain returned to the castle without another word while Isana remained, with a look that almost resembled surprise. It was hard to tell with her. A pigeon-toed slave crept up to take their horses, prompting him and Ryszard to dismount. The slave did not attempt to get close to Selik's horse, something Trennen did not blame him for.
Lord Zephon himself appeared in the doorway, a dark green cloak fluttering behind him and Ghislain at his side. His stride was unhurried and his expression wavered between anger and disquiet. When he saw Selik, he looked intrigued.
Let it never be said Lord Zephon cares not for his legion.
In an instant Zephon was beside the vampire, holding the horse in place and inspecting the vampire.
"What happened?" he asked coolly.
It seemed Ryszard had a trace of humility as he gravely recounted the past five days. "I believe he's possessed," he finished.
"He responds to Wretch," Trennen added.
Lord Zephon's blank look and Ryszard's warning glare were enough to make him regret opening his mouth. His sire returned his attention to the possessed vampire, who stared at him with a cockeyed gaze.
"Selik?"
The green flames rushed into the vampire's eyes and he thrashed against the bindings. "Wretch!" he spat, fury rolling off him in heated waves.
Beneath him, the gray horse began to twist and snort in fear.
"Get him down but keep his hands tied." Zephon stepped back and immediately Ghislain and Isana swept forward to unstrap him from the horse.
Selik's head lolled as Ghislain dragged him from the courser. Trennen assumed he could see. From the words that soon came from the creature's mouth, he had spotted Isana.
"Pretty wench," he crooned. "You might have use after all."
If Lord Zephon had not been standing there, Trennen believed Ghislain would have snapped his neck. Isana's lip curled but she was not one for voicing her fury. Ghislain held him in place by his throat, blood appearing where his claws met skin.
"Isana, find that priest from Provance," Zephon said. He smiled mirthlessly at Ryszard. "Your assessment is likely correct. It is time for an old-fashioned exorcism."
The vampire nodded but his cheerless expression never lessened.
"Has he fed recently?" Zephon asked.
"None of us have," Ryszard replied.
"Good then, he'll be too weak to withstand much." He offered the smallest of grins, seeming almost…uncertain? Of course not. "Go feed. You two have earned a rest."
But Ryszard remained. Insolent fool! How in the nine hells have you gained any sort of status? Tramping, complaining, and ordering anyone but Lord Zephon around like chess pieces?
"Lord Zephon," Ryszard began. "We will stay. Selik was my charge, and I made him go down there."
Trennen almost gagged. It only stung worse when Lord Zephon regarded the muscled fighter with a paternal smile.
"You were following my orders. Rest assured, I do not blame you."
Zephon studied the possessed vampire. Selik was hunched over in a crouch like a feral animal. His jaw hung loose, almost dislocated. Gurgling, labored sounds were coming from his mouth; it took Trennen a moment to realize the creature was laughing.
"You so righteously forgive the one who has started your downfall, who has murdered your loyal subject, and who has given me the means to make my retur-agh!"
He snarled in pain as Ghislain clamped his talons further into his neck, driving the vampire to his knees.
"Quiet, Wretch."
Trennen was not too proud to admit a swath of pride at Lord Zephon using his name for whatever had taken over Selik.
The leader of the Zephonim turned as Isana glided in front of a scrawny human. Trennen guessed it was the mage-priest.
Few vampires had any of the magic they might have had as humans. The ability might remain, but the memory of how to use it—or even be aware of it—was gone with the chains of mortality. That was what humans were for. Not every slave was driven to an early grave. The priest was well dressed and fed. Deferent, but not broken.
Trennen watched the mage carefully as he approached. The slender man walked like one who knew his place, eyes down but head high. His neck was scarred though a few lines of blue remained. The man had cut away a tattoo, likely the symbol of his order. Whatever your talents, faith was the first thing to go. Inked on his wrist was Zephon's green sigil, a reminder that he would find no more succor from humans.
Selik was staring at him again with those demonic eyes. He turned his attention back to Lord Zephon, who was murmuring with the priest. The robed man nodded in obedient understanding.
"Ghislain, stand back," Zephon said. "Ryszard, strike him with your sword but only enough to stun."
Ghislain let go and took his place beside his sister, an arm curling around hers as if he would need to yank her behind him. Ever the valiant, dutiful soldier, Ryszard unsheathed his broadsword and stepped forward. Selik wheeled, unsteady on his feet, and only managed a furious cry as the steel took him across the chest.
The vampire sprawled onto his back and the verdant flames died in his eyes. He looked rather like a cockroach. Trennen watched warily. Selik had to come back. Some twisted ghost could not be a match for a vampire.
Sniffing at a crackle in the air, Trennen watched as the priest stood with his eyes closed. Noticing Ryszard glaring warily at the exorcist almost made him want to learn magic himself. Finally, the mage raised his hands level with his chest and began to murmur in a wispy language Trennen did not understand.
There were no lights or other fancies. Indeed, the only magic light he had ever seen was a fireball hurled by a very ornery pyromancer. But he heard the hum, almost a song in Trennen's sensitive ears.
Selik lunged to his feet, hissing and twisting as if the song burned him. The green flames returned to his eyes. He snarled from deep within.
The mage faltered, stumbling once, blue eyes widening in surprise. But he was stronger than he looked, and moved back into place. Selik's snarls became pained, as if he had a wound that was being lanced.
Trennen felt his breath quickening as the weaponless battle dragged on. Whatever had taken hold of the fledgling was not letting go. Selik continued to writhe and growl but the hellish green light never dimmed.
The hum screeched in his ears, stung in his jaw. Selik raised a shaking arm—
With a shriek, the priest flew back. Ghislain sidestepped to catch him, only for them both to smash into the ground. Shock painted Ghislain's face, but he rolled to his feet in a moment. As for the slave, blood ran from his mouth and his eyes stared at nothing while his chest quivered in ragged gasps. All while Selik laughed.
"Ryszard—" Lord Zephon's voice was oddly rushed.
The vampire struck out with his broadsword, this time with enough force that everyone heard the crack against Selik's skull. For the second time, he went down.
Zephon looked at the fallen priest and scowled. Trennen knew the mage had been useful in a battle a few months ago. Who knew what plans his sire had for him? All gone now, judging from the way the slave kecked and moaned.
"Isana, get him out of here." His expression grew morose but resolute. "Whatever has Selik is strong and old." He obviously held no happiness at the prospect. "We're going to the Emperor."
