Chapter VIII: A Dark Night of Planning

Høst Gård, Norway
Time: 11:12 pm

Softly, Lucian tapped his glass with an index finger, his other hand carefully scanning through a long list of foreign names. For the last hour, they'd been working out plans for the next course of action. Magnus had been able to provide information on their destination…journey…tactics…supplies…

…and too many names.

"The numbers?" He gestured offhandedly, tossing the stapled list back towards Magnus and facing his subordinate. Firelight reflecting along the glass and heightening the darkness of blood. A troubled frown starting to cleave his good mood. Supper had long since ended with the children in bed and Vienne making short work of the dishes behind. She had taken on their duties for the time being, by the quiet nod of Magnus' thanks. Leaving them alone to discuss the following night...a two-man mission into the heart of the blood-soaked city where unsuspecting mortals walked a place of massacre. Given that his nose was already cringing at the mere thought of it, he'd long since decided a little blood-curdled alcohol couldn't hurt.

Hell…

...they might be dead by tomorrow night.

Least it could do was give them a little peace and a bleeding headache in the morning.

"Six buildings, fourteen houses on either side as well two factories," answered the pack-leader directly, staring at his glass. Now toying with the small laptop sitting before him as he accessed records. Maps laid out on the table, as well as a navigation system for the Norse rails. Printing results for the sake of Lucian who on occasion still preferred to read off parchment. "Each building has between four and ten floors. Six flats to a floor, give or take two."

"So between one hundred and fifty-eight and…" Lucian paused momentarily, scratching his arm and calculating swiftly in his mind. "…three hundred and seventy-four families."

"Not counting factories, of course…"

"Of course."

"…or streets…"

"Naturally."

"…or the surrounding area."

"Precisely my thoughts," Lucian said wearily, closing his eyes and massaging his forehead again. Feeling a sudden urge to drop his head onto the table. While he prided himself on a high tolerance for blood-alcohol, even he had to admit he was feeling the effects. There was a different kind of taste to it. A bit like...blood and licorice. A tiny buzz of contentment. If he hadn't been sharing the same bottle as Magnus, he'd think the man was trying to poison him. Blood and iron, here he was drinking the night before a mission. Such weakness should never be seen by followers. He should…he must maintain his dignity (despite the horror of receiving a cheeky goodnight kiss from a two-year old.) His strength. His belief that there was some rational means to organizing this search…

...yet they had come up with nothing.

A small margin. An awareness of which areas would be crawling with deathdealers. A knowledge of the terrain. But truth be told, there was just too little time to organize. Too little time to search through three hundred odd families in a single night. On the other hand, given the visionary nature of their source, perhaps they were right on track. Perhaps it was a simple matter of just being in the right place at the right time. The rest of their fate left up to circumstance.

Standing up, Lucian walked over to the fireplace and crouched, staring into the flames. Stoking the fire a bit before he stood up again, his gaze strolling about the room. Magnus was still fiddling about with the laptop, now playing hearts from the look of things. Arrangements had already been made in regards to their transportation. A pair of duffle-bags were by the door, every possible item stowed away in its respective place. Guns, bullets, rope, blankets, flashlights, smoke and stun grenades, first-aid kits, tranquilizer darts, muscle-relaxants, nitrous oxide, test-tubes, emergency blood...there really wasn't much more to accomplish save for rifling through papers and going to bed. The couch looked inviting, though even the floor would suffice. The carpet was thick, soothing beneath his bare feet. Feeling the warmth creep along his back, he leaned against the stone hearth, aware that this household held a kind of mystique that lay beyond his grasp. He felt warm. Fed. Comfortable. It held something that was to be treasured. Fought for. Bloods, no wonder Magnus had balked at stirring up trouble. How long since he'd stood in a lycan den that wasn't tinged by war, but...children. There were tiny scratches on the table legs. Dark curtains thick enough to stop moonlight from falling on unsuspecting heads. Even a tiny leash hanging by the doorway. Had his caretakers ever used a leash on him? He could barely remember. Back then, a lycan tantrum had probably ended with a sound beating before being locked in a kennel.

His eyes came to rest on the bottle. No label. That was odd...

"Magnus," he frowned, staring uneasily into his glass and starting to realize he might have to sit down again. "...this is blood-wine, is it not?" He stalked over to the table and sat down, picking the bottle up.

"Vintage." Magnus was still clicking his virtual cards. Losing by the look on his face.

"What year?"

This isn't vintage blood-wine, he thought. Squinting, he brought it up closer, trying to discern what was sitting at the bottom of the Burgundy-style green bottle. Something dark. Wooden. His eyes were starting to...swim. He hadn't drunk that much. Only his second glass...though true, Magnus had been topping their drinks up for the last hour. How much had he drunk? He still had to finish his glass even...

Heaving a bit, Magnus stood up and came unsteadily to the table, acquiring the bottle from Lucian and studying for a moment. Even he was starting to look intoxicated. He placed a palm on the back of the bottle and then mumbled the year... "Fifty one."

Slap!

Lucian's palm hit the table forcefully with an appreciative thud.

"Thought as much…" He murmured thoughtfully, feeling his eyes start to focus on the table. "…you know it's the scent. Very rich." He raised his head slowly, and the room followed about a second too late. Yes...he was drunk. Raising his glass, Lucian downed it abruptly, slapping his palm against the table a second time and pouring himself another two fingers. Bloods, that was good. He hadn't done a table-shot in ages. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. They had six hours to sleep it off and lycans processed well while they slept. At least with regular blood-wine. Only God knew what he was drinking right now.

Grimacing at the second loud reverberation, Magnus grunted and took a seat across from Lucian, following the lycan master's lead and pouring himself two fingers of blood as well. The glass was emptied and his hand came down hard, slapping the table for a third echo. "Boar's blood needs more tweaking than rabbit's," he said, pushing the bottle closer to Lucian.

"Tweaking?"

"Aie," His eyebrows jumped into a knowing smirk. "Tweaking."

Lucian frowned, holding his glass up…"What…kind…of tweaking?"

"The kind of tweaking tha…"

Slap!

Vienne's hand thumped across the back of Magnus' head, causing the man to turn with a grimace. Letting his glass rest on the table, Lucian couldn't help but grin with mild satisfaction...the grin turning into an innocent shrug as Magnus turned to glare at him for lack of warning. What did the man expect? The woman was pregnant for goodness' sake. He wasn't about to get in the way of a tail-swishing she-wolf just because she wanted to slap her husband's head off. She might even tear his head off.

Besides…no sense interrupting lovers in the midst of their quarrels.

Her glares took the both of them in however…

"Need I remind you there are souls trying to sleep?" She hissed under her breath. Her facial expression hadn't changed. Cold anger. Magnus appeared to be made of butter rather than stone when confronted with his wife.

"Yes, but he…"

"Two miles to the east. There's a den of soldiers scraping walls for ice and bullets. Perhaps you spend the night there?"

"But he…"

She hissed, swiftly shutting Magnus up. "I am not interested in why you're getting piss-drunk on the night before an excursion. Keep the noise down." The woman snatched the bottle from the table and stalked angrily from the room, dropping the wine into the kitchen fridge as she left.

"You know…" Lucian wondered out loud, thoughtfully massaging his chin and staring after the woman…ignoring the glowers of Magnus. "…your wife would make an excellent second." His palm tapped the table quietly, causing a slight flinch from Magnus.

The man grunted and continued glowering at Lucian.

"Or even a first…"

"Mmphh." The glower subsided a little…

The alpha pressed a little further. "Have you considered recommending her for…"

"She's named in recommendation, not that it needs." Magnus' voice turned to solid pride as he started in on well-known facts of the Northern front. "Den already looks to her as second pack-leader…and sometimes primary depending on a situation."

Lucian sniffed in approval. "Good…very good."

"Well, she was my second to begin with. Enough time together and you grow used to a person. And then you…miss them…and…more."

"I wouldn't know."

Magnus smirked. "Think of Raze. It would be like marrying Raze."

"I want to kill Raze," Lucian muttered dourly, looking towards the flames as they began to swim before him, flickering. Captivating. Liquor in his veins, and all he wanted to do was lie by the fire for the rest of his days and forget the war. Forget the pack. Forget the carrier.

…o…o…o…

Twenty minutes later…

Both men were stretched out on the floor now, one with his toes to the fire and the other with his head draped limply against an armchair. The bottle, retrieved from the kitchen, sat between them. The old memories coming easily as their friendship passed the stage of estrangement. No wonder he enjoyed Magnus' presence so much in the past. The man got him drunk, that's why.

Raising his head from the ground, Lucian pointed the fire-iron at Magnus. "Candidate's a man. Armed to the teeth and about to shoot the lycan master. Location, Number One?"

Magnus, comfortably propped against the arm-chair, heaved his glass into the air and pointed somewhere to the right. "Blood-soaked city. Three and half miles of square footage. Tracks take up a line through there…we follow the tracks. Scope out windows."

"Precisely. Enter from the front with the…" Lucian paused, suddenly lost for words and realizing he was having trouble speaking English. All he could think of was tür. Tür. Tür.

He could see it in his head...rectangular. Tür sounded like...

"…door. We enter with the door." Brilliant recovery. He dropped the fire-iron and let his head fall back to the ground, proud of his tiny achievement. Not bad for a lycan who spoke over a dozen languages. He hadn't been this happily drunk since the...since the seventeenth century. If nothing good came from this mission, at the very least, he went out with good humour. He could say door in English. How brilliant was that?

"The door." Magnus repeated, raising his glass to Lucian.

"Assuming there is a door…"

"Assuming there is a building…"

Aware that the floor was starting to slip away from him, Lucian made an unsuccessful attempt to flip onto his front. Ah. No need. The room was already flipping for him. He picked up the fire-iron with his left hand. "Assuming there is a building, Magnus...it should still take two and a half decades for the two of us to search each and every home in the vicinity. Nonetheless…" He raised his fingers and managed to administer a wobbly backwards-blessing into the air. "…the mission should go…splendid."

Magnus shifted his head off the chair and slumped to the ground. "You know it will."

"I know…"

"…because you…are the alpha…"

"No, Magnus…you…are the alpha…"

"Nuhuh…" Magnus waved his arm in the air long enough to attempt to point. "You…"

Lucian flourished the fire-iron right back. "…You…"

They began to snicker.

…o…o…o…

Three minutes later…

Vienne stalked into the room, well aware of the tweaking Magnus had performed on his 'Boar-Wine' or 'Red Fairy' as he liked to call it. At the very least, the added wormwood and seventy-five percent curdle would assure both lycans a good night's rest. And a well-deserved headache. With a sniff at their age, she covered the snoring pack-leaders with blankets, stoking the fire a bit more before returning to her guard-post. Her hand resting a bit longer on Magnus' sleeping shoulder before she left the room. She'd wake them in six hours…

…but shifting at the sound of movement, Lucian's sleep began to drift towards harsher whispers. Harsher waters. The cold mariner's voice. Enough time together and you grow used to a person. And then you…miss them…and…more.

Soon…it would be like marrying…

…o…

Slap.

Her palm hitting against the table. "You want to quit?" the Nightrunner whispered harshly.

"No."

"Sure?"

He slid the glass forward. "Pour…"

Cold eyes glinting…hissing when he touched her side. Old wounds. She wouldn't let him touch her side…a month. He was…over the pain. Nothing to remember in this place… Growing used to her voice…gravel. He loved the sound of trains…her voice…missed her…

Dying…

And now awareness rolling back and forth and glinting through the warm light of the fire. His veins pulsating. Always pulsating. Beating on the winds of a dark storm rising against the long-forgotten moon. And yet he could see nothing. He could feel…nothing.

A change of breath…

…and the last image of his mind still echoing through the void.

Gaunt lips …dry and hissing as foreign blood swept through a body
Talons wrapped around a broken sword raised from the tomb below.
Iron armour abandoned to the ground and melding with the blood of vampires.
Something was coming…

…o…

Finally…

…he dropped into dreamless sleep…

A/N: Please read and review, and hope people don't mind a drunk Lucian. (Mimyr, ChristianRockStar, and Helena...thank you so much for the latest reviews! Hope the story continues to entertain...and just as a note for anyone missing Áris, know that she will be around soon. Just had to put Lucian to bed first...)

Additional References: Obviously it's not real, but for the sake of interest, Magnus' tweaked Boar-Wine (or the "Red Fairy" as he likes to call it) is based upon absinthe. However...being blood, he has chosen to name it the Red Fairy, rather than the Green Fairy. Naturally (and similar to absinthe), the added ingredient is wormwood. I also assume he's included a higher percentage (say 60 to 75) of curdled (clotted) blood in the mixture, thus accounting for the strong results.

Perhaps one of these days, I might put together an encyclopedia of lycan lore according to the world of Rushwriter...