Bloodforged (21 page)

Ulrika balled her fists. He was being deliberately insulting. ‘What do you mean by that?’

He shrugged again. ‘You are good with a blade, and you have luck, but in all else you are a disaster. You are obviously only recently turned. You show all the signs. You are unsubtle, unstable, sentimental, lacking in forethought and control, and divided in your loyalties. You love humans more than your own kind, and wish to live in two worlds at once.’ He turned back to the edge. ‘Perhaps I saved you so you would have a chance to learn. I don’t know. But you should do it somewhere else.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘Go home, wherever that is. You aren’t ready to leave the nest.’

And with that he leapt off the roof.

Ulrika snarled and lurched after him, slashing with her claws, but he had already landed on the street below and was running off into the night.

She could have chased after him, but her hip wound hurt too much, and so did her pride.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE VENGEANCE OF KIRALY

Ulrika returned to the basement of the abandoned bakery in the ruins, making doubly sure she wasn’t followed, and climbed into her brick oven bed just as the sky began to lighten in the east, but sleep would not come. She was too angry.

The vampire’s insults rang in her ears, and mocked her as she tried to refute them. She could see she might have been unsubtle in how she dealt with the cultists, but what about the rest of it? Was he right? Were her loyalties divided? Did she love humans more than her own kind? No. After tonight, she despised both equally. Both preyed upon the weak and powerless. Vampires took the blood of innocents, and gangsters and cultists took their freedom and their souls. She saw no difference between them.

And was protecting the victims of such predators really just sentimental foolishness? Was her wish to be a good shepherdess to Praag just idealistic nonsense brought on by a few sad songs and a moment’s melancholy for the loss of her father? Perhaps, but didn’t it also serve a purpose? A Lahmian lived hidden within society, not outside it like other vampires. Therefore, maintaining the status quo was a matter of self-preservation. If society collapsed, what would all the Lahmians in their lovely little houses do then?

She groaned and rolled over in her brick bed. The Lahmians wouldn’t even listen to her. Boyarina Evgena seemed a calcified tyrant, so concerned with defending her dominance she couldn’t even allow Ulrika to exist. Why couldn’t she leave her alone? With her father gone and his lands lost to the hordes, Praag was the only remaining place in the world Ulrika had feelings for. She wanted to make it her home. She couldn’t let Evgena and her sisters drive her from it, any more than she could let the Slaaneshi cult destroy it.

The cult worried her. Though both Evgena and her mysterious rescuer had dismissed them as a toothless threat, Ulrika had felt their bite and was not so sure. Their organisation appeared far-reaching and well funded. They had manpower, money enough to hire gangsters to collect girls for them and powerful warlocks among their ranks, and if they succeeded, her city would be gone.

But how to track them down? They had swiftly and efficiently cut off and cauterised all leads. She was back to where she had begun.

She gnawed at the problem until her thoughts at last grew jumbled, and sleep drew her down into uneasy dreams, full of stealthy shadows and purple flames.

The next evening, as soon as the sun set, Ulrika, still unable to think of any other way forwards, returned to the cellar of the kvas distillery, looking for clues – and not having much luck. The bodies of the ceremony leader and his minions had been removed, as had any evidence of the sacrificial circle. The wagon that had brought the girls was gone too, and not a weapon nor a stitch of clothing had been left behind among the brass vats that lined the walls. Nor were there any books or notes or eldritch inscriptions to be found, just the smears and splashes and drying rivers of blood she had spilled in her frenzy the night before.

Still, there might yet be a trail. Her nose was as keen as a hunting cat’s, and she had used it before to track her prey. The trouble here was there were too many scents, all mixed up together. They would be easier to pick apart in the yard.

She turned towards the ramp, then stopped and lowered her hand to her rapier. Someone, or something, was coming down it. She heard a heavy dragging sound – the slithering of a great snake? Some daemon conjured by the hated warlock? She extended her senses, but heard no pulse, nor felt the warm flicker of a heart-fire. Did daemons have hearts?

She hid behind a pillar and drew her blades. A long shadow stretched down the moonlit cobbles, extending like a slug as the dragging sound continued. Ulrika tensed to spring.

The slim silhouette of a man appeared at the base of the ramp, a man with a sword, but no heartbeat, dragging a dead man by the collar.

‘You should be more cautious,’ the swordsman said, letting the body drop. ‘The Lahmians posted a swain to watch for your return.’

Ulrika grunted with anger and chagrin. It was her insulting rescuer. She stepped out from behind the pillar, but did not sheath her rapier and dagger. ‘If you find me so pitiful, why do you follow me?’

He knelt and wiped his blade on the cloak of the dead man. ‘I have reconsidered what you said about the cult,’ he said. ‘I fear they might be a threat to Praag after all, and I cannot allow that.’

‘The fate of the city concerns you?’ Ulrika curled her lip. ‘I thought you did not bother with the affairs of men.’

‘I care nothing for Praag,’ said the vampire. ‘But Mannslieb is next full in three nights. If these fools succeed in conquering the city by then – even if they fail, but still throw it into confusion – they may interfere with my vengeance.’

Ulrika raised an eyebrow. ‘What vengeance is this?’

The vampire stood and sheathed his blade, then regarded her again for a long moment with cool grey eyes. ‘As you despise your own kind so much, you may not understand this, but I have come to Praag to avenge the death of my blood father, Count Ottokar von Kohln, a great and noble prince of Sylvania who died at the hands of a false friend and betrayer.’

‘I understand the love of a child for a parent,’ said Ulrika stiffly. ‘I loved my father more than I did my life.’

‘You understand nothing,’ said the vampire dismissively. ‘Your true father was yours only by accident of birth. Mine chose me, and I chose him. He was more to me than any human father ever could have been. Indeed, he took me from my human father, and I thanked him for it.’ He turned away suddenly, hiding his face from her. ‘Now,’ he said, after a long moment. ‘He has been taken from me, and I will not rest until I kill his killer.’

Ulrika bristled at his arrogance, but his sudden emotion surprised and intrigued her. She had not expected it. ‘Who is this killer?’ she asked.

‘A vampire named Konstantin Kiraly,’ he said. ‘He was my father’s guest for centuries – his friend, we thought – until he revealed his true nature and killed him in his sleep.’

‘Kiraly?’ said Ulrika. ‘A Kislevite then?’

The vampire nodded. ‘Five hundred years ago Praag and its environs were his domain, but then the Queen of the Silver Mountain sent a beautiful Lahmian to wrest it from him – the woman you know as Boyarina Evgena. For years she pretended to be his faithful consort, but then, during the Great War against Chaos, when he went with an army of swains to defend his properties in the hinterlands, she saw her opportunity, and cut off his head in his camp tent, making it look as if the marauders had done it. Only, Kiraly did not die.’

The vampire leaned against a pillar and continued. ‘His head and body were taken away by some of his followers, and preserved in a coffin filled with blood. They took him to Sylvania and brought him to my father, who was wise in the ways of necromantic healing, and there he stayed for three hundred years, knitting slowly back together and regaining his strength as our guest, while his mind festered with thoughts of vengeance against the woman who had betrayed him. Now he has recovered, and comes north with the descendants of his followers to take that vengeance.’

‘And you,’ said Ulrika, ‘come north to take vengeance on him.’

The vampire nodded. ‘Aye.’

‘Have you warned Boyarina Evgena of this Kiraly?’

The vampire laughed, sharp and cold. ‘She feared
I
was here to kill her. She cast me out before I could speak.’ He shook his head. ‘If I can kill Kiraly before he kills her, I will. If not…’ He shrugged. ‘She is no kin of mine.’

Ulrika nodded. It sounded precisely how the boyarina would react. ‘And this Kiraly is in Praag?’

‘If he was, I would be hunting him, not the cultists,’ said the vampire. ‘No. He travels from Sylvania with all his followers, and they move only as fast as their baggage train. It was too risky to try him on the road, surrounded by his retinue and with no shelter to retreat to if things went badly, so I raced ahead. Here I will be able to separate him from his swains and lose myself in the maze of streets if I am overwhelmed.’ He sighed. ‘But only if Praag still stands when he arrives. If it falls to Chaos beforehand, he will fear to enter. Even if the cultists fail, but leave all in confusion, he may wait, as he has already waited two hundred years. I cannot wait. I do not have his patience. My blood father must be avenged! Therefore, these fools’ plans must fail.’

‘So, what do you want of me, then?’ asked Ulrika.

‘Information,’ said the vampire. ‘Who are these cultists? Where is their lair? What is their plan?’

Ulrika snorted. ‘Would I be sniffing around down in this pit if I knew that? My last link to them burned to death in that warehouse. I know no more than you do.’

‘That… is unfortunate,’ he said. ‘I had hoped to end this tonight.’ He looked at her levelly for a moment, his eyes unblinking, then sighed and turned towards the ramp. ‘I might have wished for a more seasoned hand, but time is of the essence, and it seems I must make do. Very well. You will assist me in finding the cult. Come. We will start immediately.’

Ulrika stared as he walked away from her, so shocked by his effrontery it took a moment for her rage to manifest. ‘
I
will assist
you
?’ she sputtered at last. ‘I’m damned if I will! I owe no fealty to you!’

The vampire turned on her, an eyebrow arched. ‘Do you not? What did you say to me last night, after we escaped the fire? Do you recall?’

Ulrika stopped, then faltered, remembering. ‘I… I said I owed you my life.’

‘Do you deny it now?’

‘I… No. I do not.’

The vampire nodded. ‘You have the rudiments of honour, at least. The rest may come in time. What is your name?’

‘Ulrika Magdova Straghov,’ said Ulrika, bowing automatically.

‘And your sire?’

‘Boyar Ivan Petrovich Straghov, warden of the Troll Country marches.’

The vampire sighed. ‘Your blood sire.’

Ulrika hesitated, then shrugged. A Sylvanian wouldn’t care that she had a Sylvanian father. ‘His name was Adolphus Krieger,’ she said. ‘And he was
not
more to me than any human father ever could have been. Indeed the swine killed my true father.’

‘Krieger? The upstart?’ The vampire curled his full lips. ‘He who thought he would rule us all. I did not know he had made a get.’

‘It was almost the last thing he did,’ said Ulrika, grim. ‘Before my companions killed him.’

The vampire smirked. ‘Your companions did us all a favour.’ He gave a formal bow, clicking his heels. ‘Stefan von Kohln, of Castle von Kohln.’ A dark look clouded his eyes. ‘At least I was until Kiraly forced me from it.’ He turned to the ramp again. ‘Come. We have wasted enough of the night.’

Ulrika glared after him, still affronted by his arrogance. At the same time, if he wanted to stop the cultists, she could use all the help she could get, even if he thought she was helping him. With a sigh she sheathed her rapier and dagger and started up the ramp.

Ulrika and Stefan did their best to follow the cultists’ various scents, which led out of the distillery’s yard and split up as they wound through the deserted streets of the ruined Novygrad, but the trails were too cold. As soon as they reached the more populated quarters they became overlaid with the smells and spoor of a day’s traffic and vanished altogether. Five times they returned to the distillery and followed another trail, and five times the trail led to nothing.