Chapter 385 - The War of the Vampires part 8

It is always a little surprise for me when I cross the path of an immortal I have not seen in years and behold that he has not changed at all. I always expect them to be different somehow, to be altered in at least some trivial way, but they never do. Edron looked exactly as he had when I last saw him, though his robes were a little more splendid, his headdress larger and more ornately decorated. Old he was when he took the Blood. Older even than Chaumas had been. The flesh of his ugly face was deeply crenelated, like someone had taken it and crumpled it in their hands. He had icy bluish-gray eyes and a long, hooked nose and a bitter little sneer of a mouth. He always looked as if he had just bitten into something sour, lips pursed, eyes narrowed to slits. I have never seen a gentle emotion pass across his features, only hatred, fury, outrage, disgust.

I hated him completely.

That, also, had not changed.

He hesitated when he stepped through the western gate, confronted by several hundred hostile mortals. The Temple of the Bloodletters was slightly elevated above the surrounding city and I could just see him from my seat in the temple's central circle. I watched him pause, his puckered mouth shriveling even tinier, a dog's clenched anus, as the men and women of Penthos cried out in loathing at the sight of him. Were it not for his entourage pressing him forward, I think he might have turned and fled. And I know if my guards weren't holding back the mob, my people would have pounced on the reviled Eternal and ripped the old fiend apart. Many of them had been hounded by the God King's slavers their entire lives, had lost loved ones, their entire tribe, to the hated Uroborans.

The guards I had placed along the path were barely holding back the crowd. They were powerful immortals, every one of them, but the surging crowd smashed against them again and again, causing the line to tremble and sway. A hundred mortal hands reached out, fingers curled, to swipe at the Eternal, trying to catch hold of him, but that was what I wanted. I wanted Master Edron to feel some measure of the fear he had inflicted on so many hapless mortals over the millennia. I wanted him to feel vulnerable and small. I wanted him to feel despised, to know that he was despicable.

"How good it would feel to call off those guards," I said to Zenzele under my breath. "To let the crowd have him. To watch them tear him apart."

She did not reply, but placed a restraining hand upon my forearm.

Bhorg, who was standing to my right, overheard my comment and grunted in agreement.

I sat up straighter, trying to appear regal, as the Eternal and his entourage started forward, staying well to the center of the corridor my guards had cleared for them. I had dressed for the occasion in my finest clothes, donned a great feather-trimmed cape, leather boots and plated gauntlets. Zenzele had painted my face to make me look more fearsome, my eyes circled in black, my lips a bright bloody red. My headdress was cumbersomely large-- much larger than Edron's ceremonial cap—and was fashioned to give me the appearance of a bird of prey. Zenzele was similarly attired, though her cape was trimmed in fur rather than feathers, and her ceremonial headdress gave her the likeness of a she-wolf. I watched impassively as the God King's delegation filed steadily toward us, the crowds to either side of them howling for blood.

"There they are! The Tanti hostages!" I hissed, sitting forward in excitement. I had feared that Master Edron would leave his prisoners behind, hold them in reserve to insure his safe passage. "The God King's 'peace offering'!" I snarled. "The old fool has brought them!"

"Steady, my love," Zenzele whispered.

I composed myself, affecting once more the dispassionate expression of a bored aristocrat.

It was difficult, for it infuriated me to see my kinfolk in bondage. They were woefully thin, their naked bodies filthy and covered in cuts and bruises. Eyes hollow, they stumbled after their Uroboran captors, heads and wrists secured to wooden stocks. I recognized two of them, though they were much younger the last time I'd beheld them, cousins of Ilio's wife Priss, my old friend Valas's niece and nephew. They looked old now, their tangled hair streaked with grey, their faces deeply lined and hopeless. They did not even seem to know where they were, and shrank back in fear from the howling mobs to either side of them. It was all I could do to remain seated. I wanted to leap from that dais and fly to their rescue.

Edron stared straight ahead as he marched. For him, there was no screaming horde, no gauntlet of trembling mortal hands straining to catch hold of him, to pull him into the maddened crowd and rend him limb from limb. But I could see his apprehension in the tautness of his mouth, the way he focused his attention on each step, first the right foot, then the left foot, and then the right foot again. My vampire senses are very acute. I could smell his fear. I could taste it. His apprehension was as fine as mortal blood, and every bit as satisfying.

Edron saw me watching him and scowled. A moment later, something moist and brown struck him on the side of the head.

He recoiled, wiped the viscous fluid from his cheek with his hand. I saw the outrage on his face when he realized what it was and very nearly burst out laughing.

Human excrement!

Edron flicked his hand in an attempt to be rid of the offensive matter, but the sticky substance clung tenaciously on. An instant later, someone else pelted him with their scat. He bared his fangs at the crowd and hissed, but this was no mob of starved and dispirited slaves. The people of Penthos did not fear the blood drinkers, for they had lived shoulder-to-shoulder with their immortal cousins for years, decades for some. They knew they had the superior numbers, and a city full of immortals—their brothers and sisters-- sworn to protect them. They roared right back at the Eternal, surging like a violent wave against the picket of soldiers holding them at bay. I was afraid for a moment the line might break, that they might actually get through to the Uroborans, but my guards pressed back against the crowd, faces strained, and just barely managed to hold the mob in check.

More dung whizzed through the air, striking Master Edron and his attendants in the face and chest and shoulders. Bhorg laughed uproariously as Edron and his escort, their dignity forgotten, ducked their heads and made haste for the Temple of the Bloodletters.

And so it was in disgrace, splattered in mortal shit, that the God King's envoy came to treat with me for peace.

I did not rise to greet him but leaned back with a moue of disgust, fanning my hand at the sickly-sweet odor of human excrement that accompanied his entourage.

"Master Edron," I said, "welcome to Asharoth."

I could see that he was battling to restrain himself, shoulders hunched around his ears, body shaking with rage. If looks could kill, I would be twice over dead right then. A piece of excrement about the thickness of my thumb dropped from his cheek and rolled down the front of his robes, leaving a brown trail. Somehow, he managed to suppress his indignation and opened his mouth to address me.

"In Penthos, we bow to the Father when we address him," Bhorg interjected, stepping forward with his mighty hammer.

We did no such thing, but Edron did not know that.

Master Edron glared at the hulking barbarian at my side, then shifted his gaze to that massive stone hammer. Bhorg's hammer, composed of pure granite, was some three or four cubic feet in volume, and about six hundred pounds. The old fiend might have been an Eternal, but a hammer that size would pulp his head all the same. I could attest to that. I have seen Bhorg strike his foes with such force that their bodies literally exploded.

I think Edron must have seen such a thing once or twice himself, for he reluctantly lifted the hem of his robes and hunkered down. It took all of his self-control to do it, but he bowed.

"All of you!" Bhorg roared, pointing at the rest of the envoy with his hammer.

Edron shivered as the mortals surrounding the Temple began to jeer. They laughed and pointed, shouting insults at the humbled Uroborans.

I waited for a terribly impertinent amount of time, then indolently pronounced, "You may rise, Master Edron."

Edron rose.

"How shall I address you?" he asked.

"Here, among my people-- among my children-- I am called the Father," I said. "But you are not one of my children. You are, in fact, a killer of my children. Therefore, you may call me… Most Righteous One. Or, if you prefer, simply Gon."

He seethed at my insouciant tone.

"I shall call you Gon, then," he snapped. The nostrils of his beak-like nose flared rapidly.

I flicked my hand as if I could not be bothered either way. It was beneath me.

"As you know, the God King sent me—" he began.

"I know nothing," I interrupted.

"What?"

"You said 'as you know' as if I know what your business here is, but I've no idea why you're here. I was told you desired an audience with me, and that you were sent to speak on behalf of Khronos. That is all I know. What is it that the God King wishes to ask of me?"

Edron scowled, but he continued gamely on. "I have been sent to treat with you for peace."

"Peace!" I scoffed.

"The God King has instructed me to tell you that he is most impressed with the society you have created here. For many years, he has observed you with his all-seeing Eye. Your kingdom is vital and strong, your people productive and obedient. He says that it has inspired a change of heart in him. He has never before considered that mortal and immortal could live together as equals, but here, in Asharoth, you have shown him a new way. A better way, perhaps. It is his desire that we should make peace with one another. That our two kingdoms, Uroboros and Asharoth, should be sister states, capitols of the East and the West Dominions, sovereign but united. It is his desire that we defend one another from any outside threat that might arise in the future, and that we trade freely with one another, both in material goods and in ideas."

Oh, but it sounded so good! Khronos knew just how to bait a trap. I might have even fallen for it… once.

Zenzele looked at me hard, reading my thoughts as only she could do. But she needn't have worried. I had told her what I intended to do.

I had to get those hostages away from the Uroborans!

I pretended to consider his proposal, taking my time, making him wait. Finally, I said, "How do I know that I can trust you? Your words have a sweet smell, but so does shit-- as you well know. How do I know Khronos will keep his word if I decide to broker peace? I do not want war any more than your master does. I would like that our two kingdoms become sister states. But Khronos has broken his word to me before, and I am not so eager to stick my head in the crocodile's mouth a second time, no matter how pretty the smile."

Would he buy it? Vampires are notoriously good at detecting deceit. On the other hand, I wasn't really lying. I did desire peace.

"You've seen, of course, the peace offering Khronos extends to you," Edron said, flourishing an arm toward the Tanti. "He knows these people are precious to you. These six he returns to you now are proof, he hopes, of his sincerity. The rest shall be released to you, alive and unharmed, once we have finished negotiating a treaty."

A lie, of course. He did not know that Irema was there in Uroboros, that she had seen the Tanti beaten and crucified, and relayed that information to us through the link she shared with her sister.

"All of them?" I said, sitting forward with feigned earnestness. "Alive and unharmed?"

I made as if to struggle with my pretense of indifference, hoping he'd believe that I just could not contain myself.

Edron smiled smugly, disdain oozing from every pore. "All of your mortal descendants. Alive and unharmed. Khronos is well aware of their value to you."

I leapt to my feet, pretending to lose my composure in my eagerness. "Of course! Of course! I have no desire for bloodshed!" I exclaimed, coming down from the dais. "I am a man of peace. It is not my desire to see anyone come to harm. Only give these men to me and we will retire to my private chambers to begin negotiations!"

Exultant, Edron gestured for the hostages to be released. As his attendants removed the Tanti from their restraints, I watched Drago glide into position nearby, slipping unobtrusively between two of my personal guard. I saw his fists tighten on the shaft of the halberd he carried. He gave me an imperceptible nod, and I signed to him with a finger: Hold, my friend, until the Tanti are clear.

Zenzele tensed upon our makeshift throne, watching intently, waiting for my signal. Bhorg rested his hammer upon his shoulder, looking at the sky. To my left, Hammon and Eris took up their positions. Usus, idling in the crowd, placed his hands upon his blades.

Edron saw none of these things. He was too gleeful, too assured of his victory. He believed his master had outwitted me again, sentimental fool that I am!

And then I sensed the Eye, hovering somewhere overhead. Khronos. Watching from his mountain stronghold. Did he, too, believe that he'd outfoxed me? That I was actually falling for the same old trick?

What I do, I do for the good of the whole, I said to myself.

The Tanti did not move when they were freed. They did not react in any way at all, just stood there meekly, shoulders slumped, like beaten animals. I nodded to Neolas, and he and several of his blood priests stepped forward, taking the Tanti gently by the arms.

Forgive me, ancestors, for what I do tonight, I prayed.

The hostages stared blankly at the men who had taken them in hand, uncomprehending. I was afraid for a moment they might resist my abuellas, that something might break in them now that they'd been freed. The last thing I needed was for them to defy the very men who were trying to rescue them.

But the Tanti hostages did not rebel. They shuffled obediently after the priests, broken but safe, dispirited but alive!

I watched them as they were led from the Temple, heart in my throat, and then, when they had vanished into the crowd, I turned my attention to Master Edron.

Irema, Aioa, forgive me.

Edron gazed up at me, eyes glinting, still smiling that self-satisfied smile. "Of course, the God King wishes to negotiate the terms of the treaty himself," he said. "I've been given leave to deliver his proposal, but--"

"Oh, there's no longer any need for that," I said, cutting him off.

"What do you mean?" the old man said with a scowl.

"My terms are quite simple," I said. "You must die so that we can live in peace."

In my mind's eye, I saw the God King's majordomo helping to destroy my son. I saw Ilio flailing about as Khronos's courtiers tugged him to and fro. I saw Master Edron cackling, slashing at the boy with his sharp-nailed fingers, eyes blazing with hatred, with the sadistic pleasure of hurting, maiming, killing. At the last, Ilio had reached out to me, blood streaked hand trembling. "Father!" he had sobbed, and then another brutal Master had ripped his head from his neck.

I extended my right arm, hand open. Drago pitched the bladed staff to me. My fingers closed around the shaft the instant it smacked against my palm. Giving the old man no time to react, or even to fully absorb what I'd said, I stepped forward and cleaved his head from his shoulders.

It was an Uroboran halberd, a bladed staff some seven feet in length. A vicious killing instrument, the metal blade of the weapon had been sharpened to a razor-fine keenness. It passed through the Eternal's neck with little resistance, cutting through flesh and bone as if they were air. So smoothly did I separate the master's head from his body that his head stayed perched upon the stump of his neck for a moment, jaw dropping open in surprise. He ogled me in mute disbelief, eyes bulging from their sockets, and then I sprang forward, before the Eternal's Living Blood could repair the grievous injury, and kicked him squarely in the chest.

Edron's body flew backwards while his head toppled forward onto the ground. That ridiculous headdress went bouncing away, revealing a moly gray skull fuzzed with scraggly yellow hair.

I am sorry, my Tanti children. I have condemned you.

The God King's Eye blazed in shock and indignation. Pure hatred radiated from his invisible presence like a crimson light. It washed over me in wave after blistering wave. It was like standing before a roaring fire. I could almost feel my cheeks tightening from the heat.

And now he will go down into the Shol, I thought. He will slaughter my people, or send his men to do it. He will kill them all, every last man, woman and child. I have murdered my own mortal offspring.

For the good of the whole.

But, oh, ancestors, the price!

Even before Edron had twitched his last twitch, my forces fell upon the Uroborans.

Bhorg leapt down from the platform and crushed four of Edron's guards with a single sweep of his great hammer. He swung his hammer again and three more Uroborans went twirling into the air. Zenzele flew down from our makeshift throne and beheaded one of Edron's attendants with a sweep of her arm. She sprang onto the shoulders of another, thighs clamped around his neck, and tore off his head. Eris and Usus waded in, slashing at their opponents with their blades. Hammon used a halberd to slice one of the Uroboran soldiers neatly in half. Rayna speared two more right through the head. All the while, our elite guard battled the Uroboran escort, employing techniques we had honed for twenty years to take our enemies apart. Quickly. Efficiently. Mercilessly.

The decadent Uroborans, though vicious and depraved, were long accustomed to unquestioning obedience. Used to dealing with slaves and fawning sycophants, our assault caught them completely by surprise. It was so far beyond the realm of their experience they seemed utterly incapable of comprehending what was happening to them, much less mount a proper defense. They fell at our feet like cattle in a slaughterhouse. In the end, only two of them had the wits to attempt an escape.

They leapt up and away from the body-strewn battleground, hoping to escape the deathtrap we'd laid for them. But they could not leap clear of the crowds that surrounded the temple. Dozens of mortal hands caught ahold of them the moment they touched the ground. In an instant, the Uroborans were overwhelmed by the howling mob. Beaten down, engulfed, and masticated by the bloodthirsty horde. I watched as the mob flung pieces of their rent bodies high into the air. Arms. Legs. A head, mouth and eyes perfect O's of shocked disbelief. I might have felt pity for the unfortunate fellows if I had not just sacrificed my own mortal descendants.

Only six, I thought. That is all that remains. Trying to wrap my brain around the idea. To believe it. To accept it.

I had sacrificed my own mortal bloodline, the descendants of my cherished mates. Brulde. Eyya. Nyala. Our great to the Nth degree grandchildren. The very thing I had sworn always to protect.

For the good of the whole.

I made my way down the steps of the dais, taking my time, letting Khronos watch, letting him rage. Every moment I delayed, every moment I kept the God King occupied, was another moment of life for my beloved Tanti brethren. Another breath. Another heartbeat. Another chance to love. To feel joy and pain. To laugh. To cry.

I bent at the knees and grasped Edron's head, curling my fingers in his scraggly yellow hair. Defiantly, I raised it up. I raised it up for Khronos to see, to rage over, to roar. The mob that surrounded the temple let out a great cheer at the sight of the Eternal's head, but I was only dimly aware of their ecstatic ovation. For a moment, it seemed I could actually see the God King's Eye, a vast and bloodshot orb with waggling black tentacles. The pupil was slit like the eye of a reptile, and from it a terrible vermillion light blazed forth, an awful red dying light, like the blood of a diseased man, or the last ray of light on the last day of creation.

"As the servant, so too the master!" I shouted into that searing radiance.

And then I thrust Edron's head onto the blade of my staff and held it up. I held it aloft, so that all good men could see, all good men could know:

The blood gods of Uroboros could be defeated. Even the elite!

"To war!" I howled.