“Quite good. What are these conditions?”
She turns her gaze over to Indokkus and Vanison. “You need only heed our allies, Skartovius.”
“I served you for a long time, Skar,” Indokkus says. “Lord Ashfen.” Probably calling me that out of habit, or to see if it hurts me when he rolls the words off his tongue.
Little does he know there’s been a handful of others who have already misused my title tonight. One more means nothing to me. “You did, Indokkus.”
“Then you’ll give me this? My brother is owed vengeance for the betrayal against him.” He smacks Vanison on the shoulder, who coughs in response.
I regard the vampire. “Ah.” Now I get it.
“The Silverknight,” Indokkus hisses. “Give him to us.”
“You want Captain Rirth,” I clarify.
“Let us kill the Silverknight commander without getting in our way, and we will help you in this little skirmish of yours.”
I mull that over. I don’t care about Rirth, but I know someone who does. And Idocare about her. These are vampires asking me to betray my little temptress for their own greed and revenge.
It’s a tough ask. Even tougher to decide.
“Very well,” I say at last. Because emotion has never been my strong suit, and the aid of Helget’s vampires will logically be more useful than a single Silverknight. Someone else can take Rirth’s place at the head of the knights. “Afteryou help us win the evening against Overlady Valenthia Yurlyth, I don’t care what happens to the Silverknight. You can kill him.”
Chapter 47
Sephania
The sight before us is . . . appalling.
We stand at the top of a mountain peak, staring down into the valley of the Faith Ward below. It’s a green-tinged land with a near-constant fog billowing and creeping through the dilapidated stone buildings, the makeshift hovels, the cracked cobblestone roads. The lighting makes the very air itself appear poisonous, which it very well could be. This looks more like a tribal gathering than part of an elaborate cityscape.
Vampires are crawlingeverywhere.Some of them are literally crawling. Others are . . . meandering? Loitering? Scuffling? They’re walking to and fro, often from one side of a street to another, as if following visions in their mind. No, that can’t be right, because the throng of specimens in front of us, spread across the tapered bowl of the valley, don’t look like they have minds at all.
Garroway and Lukain stand to my left and right. Rirth is slightly back, in front of his Silverknights. Behind us, nearly two hundred battle-ready rebels, eager to raise hell.
I am not one to underestimate my enemies, yet these thin, maladjusted creatures look like they’ll blow away in a strong wind; that they can hardly hold a sword, much less have the wherewithal to attack an opposing force. We’re here to wreak havoc, and I . . . almost feel bad about it.
“What in the Four Corners of the afterworld is wrong with them?” I ask aloud. Turning to Garro, I raise a brow. “Was this what it was like when you came to the Faith Ward with Vallan?”
“Erm, it was not,” Garroway answers, looking equally as puzzled. “Though the bloodsuckers seemed much the same as before. Mindless. Frenzied. Touched. There just weren’t as many of them.”
“What has Valenthia done to them?” I ask.
Lukain says, “She has corroded their minds and turned them into beasts of burden obsessed with the Damned. These creatures are the byproduct of a madwoman inflicting her mad teachings. Probably a healthy bit of drugs involved, I’d imagine. Unholy water, if such a thing exists.”
I cringe. “I suppose we should get to it.” Far past the thick fog, deep into the valley to the north on the fringes of Olhav, rests an ornate cathedral that could be mistaken for the Temple of the True. Yet even it seemswrong, not well-kept like the True temple, falling apart, peeling and cracking under its own weight and the passage of time. Its spires rise above the fog and green lanterns that dot the streets. “That’s our target,” I announce to the fighters behind us, pointing with my sword. “Valenthia Yurlyth’s keep and church of the Damned.”
We have many, many streets to sweep through to get to Valenthia’s crumbling abode.
When I glance over my shoulder, I see some of the soldiers look queasy. Rebellion and conflict is all well and good as an idea, but when faced with the prospect of caving in a vampire’s skull with a shovel, or ripping their heart out as they spew black blood all across your body, the concept is much more terrifying.
Worrying my lip, I look to Lukain. Shockingly, he has a similar affect. As if he’s doubting our move here.
It’s not lost on me that everyone can see the first few streets filled with bloodies, and it doesn’t look fun being down therewith them. Skin is peeling from muscle and bone; staggering steps are taken by the mindless monsters; it’s like these things have nothing better to do than wait for their demise . . . or wait to inflict death upon others.
I tell Lukain in a low voice, “You want to give a speech to the Grimsons? Rally the troops? Boost morale?”
He clears his throat. “Uh, I suppose. It’s . . . the words aren’t coming to me. Perhaps we should consider this deeper. We’re not even sure Skartovius and Vallan will be able to bring reinforcements to the east and north. We can’t see that far, and—”