‘Talk is cheap, you ugly whoreson!’ snarled Mace, but it was a defiance born more of courage than of hope.
Laying down the sabre I notched an arrow to Mace’s bow. Drawing back on the string, I aimed the shaft.
Just then something struck me from behind, hurling me to the floor, and I felt a weight upon my back and fangs ripping at my throat. I tried to roll, to twist my head, but the pain was excruciating. My face was pressed to the wooden floor-boards; my hands scrabbled towards the sabre lying close, but the Vampyre’s fingers locked to my wrist.
I heard a hissing sound, then a crunching thud accompanied by the splintering of bone, and the weight vanished. I rolled to see Wulf on his knees at the far end of the corridor, his bow in his hands. A dark cloak was draped across me, a silver arrow upon it. I pushed myself to my feet.
The Vampyres within the hall had turned and were advancing towards me. Beyond them Mace had been disarmed and Golgoleth was holding him aloft by the throat, shaking him like a trapped rat.
Swiftly I gathered the bow, notched an arrow and loosed it at the broad back of the Vampyre lord. The shaft slashed through the air. As soon as it was loosed I knew I had missed the killing shot, but the arrow plunged through Golgoleth’s forearm. He did not even seem to notice it, nor did he loosen his hold on the dangling figure of Jarek Mace.
But, just as the Vampyres reached me, I caught a glimpse of Mace reaching out and grabbing the jutting shaft, tearing it loose and plunging it into Golgoleth’s throat. A terrible scream rent the air and the Vampyres advancing on me halted and spun. Releasing his hold on Mace, Golgoleth staggered back. Mace fell to the floor but as Vampyres swarmed towards him he gathered his sword and leapt forward, the blade of light sweeping in a vicious horizontal cut that hacked through Golgoleth’s neck in one awesome stroke.
Within a single heartbeat the entire hall was empty and silent, save for Raul Raubert and the bloody but triumphant Jarek Mace.
The Morningstar fell to his knees. I sank to the floor, my back to the wall, and saw again my lovely Ilka. Emptiness flooded by soul.
And I began to weep.
Raul approached, putting his arms around me. Thankfully he said nothing, and I was comforted by his presence. After a while Mace, carrying the skull of Golgoleth, joined us. Raul explained about Ilka and the others and Mace patted my shoulder and walked out into the corridor.
Raul helped me to my feet and we followed the Morningstar. He was sitting beside the ashen-faced hunchback. ‘All this for a few skulls,’ said Mace, with a forced grin.
‘You ain’t so… handsome now,’ offered Wulf.
‘Women love scars,’ countered Mace. Slowly we made our way down to the lower hall, Raul half carrying Wulf and I supporting the Morningstar.
Night had fallen, but the city was empty and silent and we sat on the steps of the palace and felt the cool night breeze upon our faces. The wound in my throat was stinging, but I scarcely felt it.
After a while we heard the sound of marching men and saw Brackban, Piercollo and hundreds of warriors come into sight. Brackban ran to us, kneeling before Mace.
‘By God, you did it!’ he cried.
Mace was too weary to respond. ‘There is still one more king,’ I said.
Brackban shook his head and told me of Piercollo’s battle with Carleth.
‘How is Megan?’ I asked.
His face was solemn as he answered me. ‘She is alive, but she has a knife wound in her back — deep and, I fear, mortal.’ I closed my eyes, a great weariness settling over me. ‘You won,’ I heard him say.
‘I lost something more valuable, something more precious…’ I could say no more. Pushing myself to my feet, I wandered away into the deserted city.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Moonlight bathed the silent city as I walked. I had no feeling for direction and was moving aimlessly. In the distance I could hear Brackban’s men singing of the victory, their laughter echoing in the narrow streets.
I turned a corner and found myself standing in the same alleyway where first I had seen Jarek Mace leap from the balcony. It seemed as if centuries had passed since then… a different world. I sat down on the cobbles and wished that I had my harp. I could not even remember the name of the girl we had rescued. There were no more tears inside me at that time. Ilka was gone and I felt the emptiness that comes with the cleaving of shared memories. Part of the joy of life is to sit with a loved one and say, ‘Do you remember that day on the mountain?’ Or perhaps a walk by a stream, or a dance at Midsummer, when the rains came. Joys continually given the breath of life by the speaking of them.
We made love only nine times. And I recall every precious moment, every touch and kiss, the sweetness of her breath, the smell of her hair.
I sat alone, my mind floating back through the days in the forest. A door creaked and I looked up to see an elderly woman and a small child emerging into the night. The woman was skeletally thin, her shoulders bowed. The child was standing, clinging to her hand, her eyes wide and frightened.
‘It is safe,’ I said. ‘They are all dead.’
‘I heard the singing,’ said the old woman. The… creatures did not sing.’
I stood then and approached them, but the child shrank back against the woman’s skirts. ‘How did you escape them?’ I asked.
‘We hid in the attic,’ she told me. ‘We have been there for… the Lord knows how long.’
I took her by the arm and led her back towards the palace. She was weak, as was the child. They had eaten nothing in all that time, and had survived only on rain-water that flowed down through a crack in the roof. At first the child would not suffer me to carry her, but her tiny body had no strength in it and she began to cry. I lifted her then, hugging her to me, and her head fell to my shoulder and she slept.
As we made our slow way through the city other survivors crept out from their hiding-places, drawn by the songs and laughter from the palace. Man is a great survivor. Floods, famine, drought, war and pestilence — he will defeat them all. Even in Ziraccu, in a city of Vampyres, there were those who had found sanctuary, surviving against all odds.
But of the eighteen thousand original inhabitants, no more than six hundred remained.
By morning we had gathered them all. I walked among them, and will never forget their eyes. All had that haunted look. None would ever come close to forgetting the terror. For many had been hunted by their own loved ones, friends and brothers. Husbands had made prey of their wives, children their parents.
Oh, Cataplas, how great an evil you unleashed upon the world! And it was an evil of the most vile kind — men, women and children turned into Vampryes against their will, becoming creatures of vileness themselves. Men talk of the judgement of God. What did you say, Cataplas, when — if — you faced that inquisition? “It was not my fault? I didn’t know?” Will that be considered a defence? I think not. What evil is greater than to force others to walk the path of darkness?
Of the six hundred survivors some seventeen died within the next three days, some because they were malnourished, others because they were old and frail. But most, I think, merely gave up, having nothing to live for.
Brackban organized teams of helpers and people from the surrounding areas moved into the city, taking over shops and stores, taverns and houses. I could not stay there. Neither could the Morningstar, and we walked together back into the forest.
But not before we had once more dealt with the skulls. Brackban took the first and hid it somewhere in the city. Wulf took the second and I the third. I buried mine beneath the roots of a huge oak. What Wulf did with his I never asked.