Chapter XIII: The Bridge of Talons
Trondheim, Norway
Time: 4:07 pm
Almost there…
Hunkering down beside a collosal recycling unit, Lucian flexed his back against the dented metal, barely moving a muscle and concentrating all of his energy on keeping silent. Approximately two miles south of the rails, they had never meant to come this way, but only an hour ago, two dozen vampires blocking the tracks had swiftly altered their course. The creature's as well, judging by the smell. They were twenty paces from the water, the winding river Nidelva stretching out like a black snake before them. Winter-guarded boats tethered to the darkness, hundreds of lights drawing a warm path along the wharf. The wooden houses flaring up, the wide streets revealing all to the naked eye. The old town bridge just ahead of them, just out of sight. The trail of aconitum drifting towards it. On their left, far above the buildings, the tall spire of the Nidaros Cathedral rose sharply, its foundations built on the graves of the massacred dead. The hidden menace from so long ago. The first boundary to old Trondheim.
Fate-willing, they would not have to approach it this night.
Keeping his eyes on the ominous spire, Lucian sniffed the air for the hundredth time. The creature had stopped here a moment…perhaps a quarter of an hour ahead. They would have to follow soon or risk losing it. A faint whiff of sweat from his left. Painstakingly, he drew his final and most favoured knife from its sheathe. A stag-horn handle with inlayed steel. A gift from her. His palm almost caressing the hilt even as he kept it hidden beneath his wrist. Almost eyeing the scent, his periphery vision moved before his muscles.
A faint outline in the corner of his pupils…
Silver knives, bullets, and poison, the smaller strike forces sprinting ahead. The full hunt would be upon them in fifteen minutes. The hemlock drawing their enemies quickly. Like spartan devils, he hadn't expected them to move so fast.
So orderly.
Abruptly, his right arm darted to the left, the sharp blade in his hand meeting flesh. Twisting through the stomach and gutting the abdomen. Carefully jerking the blade free, stabbing upwards through the jaw, and wiping the blade clean across the vampire's chest in the same motion. Easing the horned stiletto back into its sheathe and allowing the body to fold back upon itself. His world shrouded in blues, greys, and silver, the sight of the kill. Always, these vermin insisted on travelling in threes. Methodical, his eyes flicked to where Magnus crouched over two bodies, teeth bared and visible in the shadows. A woman with her neck broken. The other knifed in the back, her forehead stabbed.
All in silence.
Good.
Gravely nodding in approval, Lucian caught Magnus's attention and pointed a thumb up, two fingers flat and then, down. Time to go. Cross the bridge. Underneath.
The other man shook his head. Three fingers hooked against his thumb, then two fingers flat. Blend with the crowd. Cross the bridge.
Blend with the crowd, thought Lucian. Exhaling, he showed Magnus a flat palm. Hold. Squinting at the rooftops, his fingers trailed to his beard, falling again to the knife at his side, the hilt cold within his palm. Persistently watching both ends of the deserted alleyway, seeing the potential scenario before him.
A dark city in the middle of the afternoon rush. Hundreds of footsteps. Hundreds of unsuspecting mortals, their concerns limited to food, drink, and the latest gift to grace the shop windows. The vampires could be watching, but with that many bystanders, it might be possible to cross in the open. The old town bridge, Gamle Bybro. It was a guaranteed tourist point…nicknamed the Bridge of Luck. Even if the Bloods did catch on, they were so covert in their warfare, it was uncommon for them to riddle a city with gunfire unless directly provoked.
At least before the true hours of night.
Running a hand through his temples, his eyes fell on his pack, his clothing…everything in brown, grey and black. Their ability to blend, so to speak. Long hair and a beard could pass for a vegan tourist. Magnus was taller than an oak, but for all intents and purposes, the man blended with his countrymen. The guns were dismantled and stowed away. His knives hidden. As long as they crossed quickly, the only thing connecting them to the trail was the hemlock.
Had to think fast…the scent was drifting.
Decide.
Stepping clear of the blood spatter, Lucian grimly nodded to Magnus. Three fingers hooked against the thumb. Blend with the crowd. Cross the bridge. It was the second set of bodies they'd left behind, but they'd chance it in the open. He motioned the man to leave the vampires where they lay. His hand diving into his pack, searching for some colour. A green scarf, a knitted wool hat. Shaking his locks out, he pulled the warm hat over his ears, finding a matching pair of mittens for his hands. Magnus doing the same. Anything to make them look…conventional. His eyes focused on the rooftops, wary of any figures looking to ambush them from above.
The creature was ahead of them, but the vampires were catching up. Hopefully, the trail would diverge soon so they could be done with this travesty and move on to Corvinus' blood-heir. Once the scent split, they would have to moderate their pace, making sure the Mørkehule hunters remained close. Always close, but never quite catching. The creature would strike, and they would fall back...and disappear.
Two traps in one.
Ten seconds later, Lucian left the deserted alleway, stepping onto the busy pavement, forcing a genial smile on his face as he looked back at Magnus. Striding easily into the crowd, a backpacker and his best mate looking for a pub. Halting by the docks, like so many others, gaping at the beauty of the wharves. The two of them almost kneeling on the wood, leaning over to stare in awe at the reflecting lights. The scent of aconitum on his breath. Breathing it in, Lucian removed a digital camera from his pack, snapping quick photos from different angles before moving on towards the bridge, casually walking as if they had all the time in the world. Another tourist. Another soul hungering after the splendour of old Trondheim. The words turning in his mind…
Not too close, not too far away…
…but cornered.
…o…o…o…
Gamle Bybro, Trondheim
Time: 4:15 pm
Five minutes later, they stood at the foot of the old town bridge. A rustic old thing fashioned of wood and concrete. Enormous red gates silhouetted in the darkness, warm lanterns fixed to the centre of each arch. The glow of fire on snow. Black wheels attached to the posts. Approximately ten meters wide, it could hold only pedestrian traffic. Hand-rails along the side to stop fools from falling into water, and the Gate of Fortune standing at the west end. Rumour had it, dreams would come true if you fervently wished for them while crossing Gamle Bybro, the Bridge of Luck.
Only dreams, thought Lucian distantly, stepping onto the famous bridge.
Forward, the lycans walked, breathing the night like a thread drawing them on. Hemlock and aconitum entwined in the frigid air. A slight hint of blood for those who had a nose for it. Beneath that, cigarette smoke, alcohol...perfume and aftershave. There were many upon the bridge. One in every six a student, their faces bright and unsullied. Laughing with each other, taking a break from the end of year exams. The early days of December drawing them to the core of the city, the old university just visible in the background. Calm, Lucian pushed through the lively crowd, keeping Magnus at his side. His unconcerned gaze trailing through the group, searching for black. Silver. Trench-coats. An unnervingly fluid walk. Anything that might be following.
He frowned momentarily. Nothing.
Either these vampires were good or his luck was holding. Already, they were halfway across the bridge. Only a few paces and they would pass beneath the Gate of Fortune. So far so good. Turning to Magnus, he nodded at the angular peak of the western gate, bringing out the camera for another snapshot. The sentry house just creeping into the corner of the lens, the old building now used as a day-care. Still open at this hour, a few children played loudly within, their games requiring supervision while their parents worked. He zoomed in closer. Barely visible around the edge of the roof. Twelve skulking figures waiting with their eyes trained on the bridge. Twelve in front meant twelve behind.
His luck had just run out.
Taking two more pictures, he beckoned to Magnus, showing the digital pictures and murmuring something trivial about rustic carpentry. Laughing, Magnus nodded and casually swiped the camera, holding it up and flicking through the pictures. Still smiling, Lucian pointed to the railing, seemingly curious to look upon the wharves one final time. Leaning against the metal and gripping Magnus by the shoulder, keeping his back to the western Gate of Fortune so they could take one more picture before leaving the bridge…
"One for the road," laughed Magnus, raising the camera so they'd both be in the picture.
"Get off the bridge," Lucian murmured tightly, grinning and barely moving his lips…
"We can still retreat," the other man replied, still smiling with the words scarcely audible beneath his breath...
The camera flashed.
Without missing a beat, Magnus handed the camera to Lucian and leaned down, dropping his pack to the ground. Frowning as he began searching through his pockets. Ignoring the twelve deathdealers waiting by the wings of the old sentry house. Eying the Nidaros cathedral and growing increasingly flustered, the man continued to search distractedly, abruptly shaking his head. Shrugging his shoulders at Lucian as if to say… Must have left it behind.
Keeping the charade, Lucian rolled his eyes, looking into his own backpack and finding a wallet. Looking through it and then gesturing back in the general direction of the university. Apparently disappointed they would have to return to the other side of the river, but realizing it was important for his best mate. After all, they needed money to visit the Nidaros Cathedral Museum. Supportive, he clapped Magnus on the shoulder and together, they casually turned back towards the eastern side of the bridge. Winding their way right and losing themselves in the crowd. Perhaps they could make it. Vampires had a penchant for cornering their prey, but maybe the situation wasn't as bad as he always assumed. They reached the eastern side of the bridge and stopped behind a group of laughing youths. The eastern gate barred by a wall of deathdealers. A dozen of them staring at him as if he were the festival supper. Baked, boiled, and served with blood.
They were cornered.
Making no pretence anymore, Lucian pulled his hood over his head and began to stalk fluidly towards the centre of the bridge, Magnus gravitating towards his left flank. Smiles dropping, their steps barely audible through the snow, balancing their weight easily. People stepped out of the way, unnerved by the grim faces and sensing that something was wrong. Sleek vampires weaving through the mortal crowd around them. Stealthily moving closer, leaving enough distance, but essentially herding them. Mørkehule was doing better than he'd given them credit for. Twenty-four in total, they must have been hanging beneath the bridge, climbing up as soon as they saw the lycans were mid-way. It was debatable whether his original plan to go underneath would have ended any different. He halted, reaching the centre of the bridge, his eyes darting around. His body starting to twist and turn, eyeing the environment. Too many bystanders for this to turn into an open clash…
...but they needed an exit.
Calmly, Lucian's eyes flicked to the right and behind him. If they Changed, they forfeited clothing, supplies, and weaponry. The water was calm beneath them…freezing. As an alternative, they could jump as humans, grip the underside of the bridge, and claw their way across. The blessing of Corvinus made it possible for both vampires and lycans to defy gravity at times. Reflex kinesthetics, so to speak. Any vampires still hanging beneath could be dispatched with claws. The surrounding mortals would assume they'd hit the water…and the shock of a double-suicide would draw every bystander to the handrails. It would slow the vampires down. Buy them a few extra minutes to make the escape.
Unless they fell...
"You know if we miss, the water is freezing," Magnus grunted softly at Lucian, eyeing one of the vampires circling them. A tall blond man, blue-eyed and pale, smiling strangely. The vampire disappeared into the crowd, replaced by another. Hard-faced creatures all of them, their hands trailing to where guns must lie beneath. It wouldn't be long before they executed their right to genocide rather than capture...but then Mørkehule had a wondrous reputation for torture. Perhaps they were holding their fire for the sake of the next twenty-four hours when they could strip the skin from their prey's back.
"A fall is better than a silver bullet in the eye," Lucian observed quietly, studying the hard faces from the corner of his hood. He supposed they could still make a run for it…but it was unlikely to do much good. The vampires would either wound or kill at the first obvious hint of flight. Torture was the least of his worries at this point. If they were captured, all it took was a council member. Any one would remember his face in a heartbeat…and frankly, he didn't fancy being interrogated about his pendant this night.
Damn blending with the crowd. Damn the hemlock.
He eyed Magnus.
"You first?"
Abruptly shots rang out.
Screams coming from the old sentry house, the crowd starting to churn. Panicking mortals running back from the western end, pushing their way across the bridge. Immediately darting from the handrails, he and Magnus forced their way into the rushing mob. The hard-face momentarily barricading their way, his teeth bared, an index finger crooked around a gun trigger. Before the man could fire, Magnus ducked, slashing the man's legs out from beneath him. Lucian falling upon him with a knife, the blade slicing in and out, through the ear and along the neck. People too frightened to look down at those who had fallen. Leaping over the bodies, they sprinted on, dashing along the sidewalk of the bridge and bypassing the fleeing crowd. Stabbing another vampire through the neck and slashing across the waist of another. People on cell-phones, running, some crouching by the handrails, screaming as more gun-shots rang out. A flare in the distance suggesting fire.
Under the cover of screams, they broke out of the mob, running with the devil behind them, not even bothering to slow down as their eyes narrowed on the red pillars of the Gate of Fortune. Car-alarms going off, the sound of sirens in the distance. Broken glass and the snow covered in blood. At least half a dozen bodies carved against the gate. The blond vampire lying in the snow with his head cut off. The sound of children crying from within the old sentry house. In the back of his mind, he hoped their caretakers had barricaded them into the building.
The building...
Abruptly, Lucian skidded to a halt in mid-stride, his eyes narrowing on the bloody tableau.
No.
Just out of the corner of his vision…
Wires manhandled along the sentry house. Above him, gleaming fluorescent lights flickering from a broken second floor window. His full gaze darting back to the bloodstained snow on the bridge. The broken glass from the car window. Well, fuck...me, he thought grimly, staring in veiled shock at the reality of the Nightrunner's vision. Fluorescent lights flickering…the blood stains, the broken glass. In shock, he sniffed the air for the first time since they'd begun sprinting. His nose targeting the smells. Darting to the right and the left. His head starting to shake…
No…not now.
…the scent had just split.
It was all happening too soon.
Not too soon, he frowned suddenly at his own thought, seeing the game around him. The creature was right on target. It knew they were in danger...it was behind them. It was in front of them. It had been with them the entire way. His mind shoving his knowledge of the hunt into a cohesive and logical playing field. Protective, it wanted them alive and untainted. Selfish, it wanted to kill them itself...but not yet.
The creature was waiting for something.
From the east, another volley of gunshots abruptly bit through the air, Lucian's head twisting to stare around. The crowd was starting break, the vampires already firing upwards, using fear to rid themselves of superfluous mortals. Their pursuers would be out of the mob in seconds. Growling from behind, Magnus pushed him roughly forward, yelling "move!" and pointing to the left. Cobblestone streets. Shops, restaurants and pubs. They were past the border into old Trondheim, and heading towards the cathedral.
The cathedral? For a split-second, Lucian stood, staring at Magnus' back. Shots behind them. The hemlock went right, the aconitum left. Darting into a sprint, he followed after Magnus and the aconitum. The creature wanted them to go to the cathedral. Pelting down rapidly deserting streets, his eyes searched for another exit. Superstition aside, they could not enter that cathedral. The rooftops, the buildings...anywhere but there. Ahead of him, Magnus suddenly swerved to the cobble-stone ground, crouching in the snow and forcing one of the manholes open, the symbol of Trondheim barely visible on the heavy metal: two men facing one another, a bishop and a judge. The scent of aconitum continued on towards the cathedral, but they paid it no heed. The vampires were behind. Going underground was better than nothing.
Seizing a handgun from within his coat, Lucian plummeted into the hole, landing easily and leaping to the side of the wall, looking left and right, his finger a split-second away from firing. Empty. Magnus leaped down beside him, dragging the manhole cover back into place above them. Total darkness, but the nightvision kicked in swiftly. Eyes of silvery white. No sense waiting for the cavalry to arrive. Taking a turn in the direction from which they came, they loped through the sewers, sprinting on pathways above the water, hardly aware of their direction only to know they were heading away from the old cathedral. No longer could he begrudge Magnus' fear of the old well. In the past half hour, every instinct had kicked in, and even as an alpha, Lucian knew when to flee that which was wrong in his estimate.
Finally, they halted at an intersection, still sucking the air in heavily. Swallowing and forcing themselves to silence. Crouching in a stony dark nook and listening to the sounds around them. Running water. The stench of sewage. The air pitch-black around them. Luck holding, the vampires had not entered the darkness of the old sewers. The creature surely had not entered. Surely, Lucian prayed silently to Fate, fervently wishing upon the bridge of luck as if it could have any effect in the depths of old Trondheim. Three minutes they stood waiting, and then nodding, Lucian released his breath and vacated the nook they stood in. They had to keep moving. At least a few more blind turns before they found another manhole to place themselves within the city. Think quick, move fast. Kneeling momentarily, he searched through his pack, finding a compass, his eyes gleaming as he stared at the tiny dial. North...which unfortunately, pointed directly into the wall of stone at their backs. Sniffing, he ignored his companion. Magnus was glaring at him again. They were still breathing, weren't they? They needed to get back to the rails. Frowning, he looked to the passage they came from...
South.
Which left only two ways they could go in this particular corridor...
"Left or right," he muttered at Magnus.
"Drop the hemlock," the man whispered back, the words close to being ripped from his teeth.
"Left it is," Lucian replied quietly, his talons growing, reaching into the pack for the grubby remains of the plant. Allowing it to trail into the icy running water of the sewer system. The smell still upon them, but muted rather than potent. He sniffed the air again before turning left…ice, sewage, and hemlock on the draft. So the plant had backfired. No trail to follow now.
But no matter…
Fuck the vampires, he thought callously. An ambush probably wouldn't have worked anyway, and though they still had to deal with this hell-hound of a creature, they still had a tiny reason to celebrate. The bloody sight of that bridge had given them the first edge they had had since coming to this godforsaken place. The fervent dream of the gate of Fortune. Fluorescent lights flickering…Blood stains, and broken glass.
He had seen it…
…which meant the Nightrunner had spoken truth.
Spying the hint of success for the first time in several hours, Lucian unwittingly began to smile at the darkness, walking silently through the underground. His left fingers curled around the blade in his hand, his right around the gun. For the time being, the odds were in his favour. The creature could not kill him until the rest of the vision occurred. He knew that as surely as Liam once did…
…and if this creature thought to take him down as easily as a three-century old wounded pup, then it had another thing coming.
Old bottles and the brown suitcase were next.
...o...o...o...
The Sewers, Trondheim
Time: 4:47 pm
Watching them go, Áris gracefully uncurled her back from the stone, silently lowering her body so that her fingers hovered only an inch from the water. Catching the drifting hemlock in her talons, she drew it up to the ceiling where she lurked. Cold she was, her body the temperature of the icy water running the course of the sewers. Silent, her breath slower than the algae sliming its way down the walls. She smelled of the sewers, her limbs and body rubbed with every foul substance to grace the watery aqueduct below. The lycans had spurned her lure. They did not want to go near the cathedral grounds, but before the night was done, she would have them there. She would satisfy the Nightrunner's retribution on the steps of that hallowed place. Smelling the scent of them. Leather, oak, and gun oil. Pine and hemp. Deeply, she longed to hunt them down this very second...
...but the vision had not lied.
The hunt would go the way the Nightrunner wanted it to go.
The lycans too far to hear her movements, she quietly dropped to the pathway, keeping the broken blade of her weapon from scraping against the walls. The vampires were still following...but for now, she would continue to slay them before they even neared her prey. Facing south and steeling herself, she beheaded the first creature, disembowling the second and drowning the third. Almost as an after-thought, she recalled where her fanged brethren had come from. Mørkehule. Names had changed, but perhaps some remnant of the old world had stayed behind. Her eyes growing colder than ice. Perhaps when the next trio caught up, she would question the final one before his end. It did not matter...but she almost wanted to know what Aurelius would say if he knew she were down here. He had buried her in the first place after all.
How was her coven faring under that traitor's leadership? At the thought, her eyes widened suddenly. A shocking innocence in them for all that she was a creature of dark deeds. No longer her coven.
No longer her people...
Wiping the blade upon the vampire and allowing sewage to collect upon the unseeing eyes, Áris rose from the water, her gaze momentarily turning south towards the old cathedral. Not yet. Swallowing her longing, she stowed the broken blade beneath her coat. Her steps taking her east and down the corridor the lycans had entered only ten minutes past. Old bottles and the brown suitcase were next. A straight-back chair by the window ledge. The tracks... perhaps even sooner than this...Lucian...expected. And wherever he surfaced, the aconitum would return. The hemlock would return. Inwardly, she laughed, almost wanting to clap her hands together, pleased with the trap she had laid. Her enemies never understood the child-look pleasure she took during a hunt...and yet this Lucian had the most wonderful way of misinterpreting her actions. The perfect prey... Hungry for the kill, she inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of the lycan. Many years ago, she had learned of the kill. She had hunted wolves down with a swift and sure hand...until the day her wolves in turn taught her how to hunt vampires...
Exhaling, the memories drew her into the past again...
The memory of her wolves...
In the end, she had betrayed them.
She blinked in the darkness, her shoulders starting to droop. Her neck falling back, raising her face to the unseen night. Her eyes green once more, drawing her into the present. Water on her face. It was fitting that she would return to the cathedral before this night was done. The pain of her memories and what she had done in the past. For a moment, she almost pitied this one. This creature of the guardian-race. Striking in his manner. A bona fide leader. She had such a taste for leaders...but she had a debt to pay. Her lips drew back, amused once again by the creature she hunted. There was no room for pity during the hunt. Once the vision was complete, she would drive him into the cathedral and then the ground. For the Nightrunner had been wronged. The seer must always have vengeance.
With new resolve, Áris quickened her pace, keeping her presence unnoticed. Trailing after the lycans who would not see her until it was too late, stalking her prey silently through the underground. The glint of teeth as she smiled, the words turning in her mind. The first lesson taught to her so many years ago, the wolves' mantra still hanging on her breath…
Not too close, not too far away…
…but cornered.
He would be dead before she made him kneel at the altar of Nidaros.
A/N: JohnnyHasTheKeys, JenRock, Kim, and NeverEndingNights, thank you for the latest reviews! I'll try and keep up the details.
Yay, we're in Trondheim! In terms of chapter XIII, Gamle Bybro does exist as well as the Nidaros Cathedral. (Pictures can be found online.) Once again, the actual confrontation between Lucian and Áris has been moved over to chapter XIV. (Though you must admit, Áris is much closer than she was last chapter. She's practically on their heels.)
Please read and review.