‘Was that a question, or a suggestion?’ Mannfred asked. ‘Arkhan’s usefulness is finite. Can your pet be trusted to do this thing for me, sweet cousin?’ Mannfred asked, looking up at the tree. It seemed to be flourishing anew, its limbs growing gnarled and strong, as if it were feeding on the mortal energies of the dead things gathered at Sternieste. He traced the jagged contours of its crumbling bark with a finger.
‘He can, my lord,’ Elize said.
‘You sound confident.’
‘In Anark’s strength and willingness? Yes, cousin, I am. I chose him for those qualities.’
Mannfred smiled. ‘Ah, cousin, my cousin, you were ever the darling of dear, sweet, mad Isabella’s eye, in those glorious times now gone to dust and memory. She relied much on you, in those final days, while Vlad was occupied with the war.’
Elize said nothing, but silence was as good an answer as anything she might have chosen to say, to Mannfred’s way of thinking. He glanced over his shoulder at Elize, studying her. ‘You were alone among her handmaidens in your practicality and – dare I say it? – your sanity. A mind second only to my own, I have often said.’
‘Have you, my lord? I have never heard you say such about anyone,’ Elize said mildly. Mannfred raised his brow in surprise. Elize was normally quite circumspect. He expected such comments from Markos, but Elize…
‘You are worried, then,’ he said, turning to face her. ‘Should I send another of your creatures? The Crowfiend, perhaps? Erikan of Mousillon,’ he continued, and his smile turned feral as a brief look of consternation crossed her perfectly composed features. ‘Oh yes, I smelt the stink of that particular demesne on him, the poor boy. He is the last surviving pup of the Cannibal Knight of Mousillon, of infamous memory, isn’t he? The Bretonnians burned that lot in their sewer palaces. The Cannibal Knight, his princess of Bel-Aliad, and their squalling retainers. Royalty, that one, at least insofar as the Bretonni judge these things. He has no idea, of course, and I shall not tell him.’ He crossed the space between them and caught her chin. ‘That shall be my gift to you, hmm? From one loving cousin to another.’ He lifted her chin, so that her eyes met his. ‘Shall I send him instead of Anark, perhaps? Or both together?’
‘As you wish, my lord,’ Elize said.
Mannfred released her and stepped back. He chuckled. ‘What game are you playing, sweet cousin, that you will not share your moves with me?’
‘It is but a small one, to amuse myself,’ she said.
‘I’ve often wondered… How did you woo him? Or did he woo you, the necromancer’s apprentice trailing after the beautiful lady without mercy?’ Mannfred turned away. ‘He angered you, though, your cannibal prince. I know that much. He left to follow his own path, without a word of thanks for all your efforts to groom him into something greater. What was your plan then? Was he to be a stepping stone to influence elsewhere?’
‘As I said, my lord, it was but a small amusement,’ Elize said.
She was lying. Mannfred nodded nonetheless, as if he believed her. ‘Then you will not mind if I send both. If one of your creatures fails, then the other will not.’
Elize’s face might as well have been a marble mask. ‘As you will, my lord. Who, dear cousin, will accompany you? And who will be castellan here?’
‘The latter is easy enough – you,’ he said.
She blinked. Then, she inclined her head. ‘You honour me, cousin.’
‘I know. See that you do not disappoint me. I’d hate to accomplish my goals, only to return to a burned-out ruin, and a scattered army.’ He ran his palms over his head and said, ‘As for who shall accompany me… Markos and our good Vargravian count, Nyktolos. Both have warred in the Border Princes before, and their experience is required. Master Nictus will stay with you, to act as your good right hand.’
Elize hesitated. Then, ‘Are you certain you wish to take Markos?’
Mannfred looked at her. ‘Concerned for my wellbeing, sweet cousin?’
‘If I were not, would I have warned you of Tomas’s intentions, all those months ago, before this affair even began? Would I have warned you that he’d made an agreement with von Dohl, that he was promised command of the armies of Waldenhof, if he took your head?’
‘As I recall, you warned me so that I might allow you to choose the next Grand Master of the Drakenhof Order. A straight bargain, Elize.’ Mannfred laughed. ‘And even if I hadn’t known, Tomas would have failed. He was a maggot, nothing more, just like von Dohl, and the cursed Shadowlord and all the others who defy my blood-right.’
‘Like Markos?’
Mannfred paused. ‘Markos has never been… comfortable in a subordinate role. Vlad spoiled him. He had a peculiar fondness for acerbity in his servants.’
And you would know, wouldn’t you, boy? Vlad’s voice murmured. Mannfred ignored it and continued, ‘It is a fondness that I do not, on the whole, share.’ Of course not. You never could stand to be questioned could you, young prince? Vlad needled him. Mannfred felt his cheek twitch as he sought to restrain a snarl of frustration. ‘I am giving Markos a chance. He will serve, or he will make his move,’ he said. ‘Either way, I am too close to victory to allow him to remain undecided. We are coming to the sharp end of all things, sweet cousin. The time when sides must be chosen, and banners unfurled for the last time. All games save mine must be put aside, for the good of all who bear the von Carstein name.’ He looked at her. ‘Including yours, my sweet Elize.’
‘Do you dream, old man?’ Arkhan asked. He examined Volkmar from a distance, head cocked. He had stood in the same place since Mannfred had left, soaking up the miasma of the place, drinking in the concentrated essence of his master’s earthly remains. All that had been Nagash, save for certain pieces, was here, and he could feel the Great Necromancer’s presence beating down upon his brain like a terrible black sun. ‘I think you do. You can hear his footsteps in the hollows of your heart, and his voice in the sour places of your memory, even as I can.’
Volkmar said nothing. He glared at Arkhan as silently as he had Mannfred. Arkhan leaned against his staff. He was not weary, but sometimes he felt what might be the ghost of such a feeling, deep in his bones. ‘I see the skull beneath your skin, old man. It’s no use denying it. He has chosen you.’
‘He is chosen, and by Lord Mannfred,’ Morgiana hissed. She rose from where she’d been crouching in the corner and sauntered towards Arkhan, as far as her chains would allow. Unlike the others, she hadn’t been beaten to within an inch of her life. She no longer had a life to lose. She glowed with the cold fire of undeath to Arkhan’s eyes, and he did not wonder why she was still chained. She had been threat enough in life. In death she was even more dangerous. Or she would be, once she learned the new limits of her power.
Arkhan examined her curiously. She was kept with the others both because she made for a cruelly amusing gaoler, and because even Mannfred wasn’t so foolish as to let a creature like Morgiana Le Fay wander loose. Her blood still pulsed with the raw stuff of life, as did her magics. It was only her presence that kept the other captives from slipping over the precipice into death’s domain. Mannfred had truly wrought something abominable when he’d turned her. Still, there was yet a sliver of the woman she had been within the beast he’d made of her.
‘How did he acquire you, I wonder?’ he murmured, drawing close to her. She hissed and retreated, her eyes narrowing with pain. Arkhan stopped. Some vampires, those with an unusual sensitivity to the winds of death, felt pain in his presence. He was little more than the power of necromancy given form, and for some vampires, that was the difference between being warmed by flames and burned by them.