The Living Night (Book 2) (12 page)

When Ruegger emerged into the main chamber, he
entered the maze again and pressed down one row and another, making his way
toward the stairs. He knew he was safe as long as he could hear the breaking of
glass as the Captain smashed his way through the tunnel Ruegger had just
emerged from. With any luck, D'Aguila would become lodged there. The sound
ended, though, and Ruegger knew he was in trouble again.

He neared the end of the maze—or the beginning
of it, rather, for this is where one would normally descend into the cellar to
enter the burgundy corridors.

A stretch of open ground lay between the stairs
and the beginning of the maze, and Ruegger would have to cross it in order to
reach the storage room, the door of which hung open in tatters, thanks to the
soldier and, presumably, his comrade. The room was ten feet from the staircase.
Glancing overhead, Ruegger spotted D'Aguila making a long slow pass, his large
belly bared and leaking blood.

Ruegger stepped from the maze onto the open
ground and spun to face the Captain. Raulf, seeing his prey vulnerable,
adjusted its course and began a dive toward the Darkling, obviously relishing his
moment of triumph.

Suddenly, thousands of bottles rose from their
wooden nesting places and shot up toward the creature. At Ruegger's telekinetic
direction, a humming swarm of the ancient receptacles assaulted D'Aguila, their
legions breaking against him in a frenzy of bursting glass. Raulf bellowed in
pain.

The bottles continued to fly from the racks,
striking the beast with an ever-increasing intensity. D'Aguila halted his
attack, concerned only with warding off the endless volleys. The bottles
slammed into him, exploding brightly, bruising the Captain with their weight
and cutting deeply when they broke. The glass that didn't lodge in Raulf's
flesh rained down on the maze, glittering. Torrents of wine spilled down
D’Aguila’s scaly hide, mixing with the blood, and Ruegger felt a stab of
regret. It was probably all vinegar, he told himself, but the scent given off
by the drink divulged a different story.

When the buzzing cloud of bottles surrounding
D'Aguila grew so thick that Ruegger could no longer see his enemy, he made his
way into the weapons locker and surveyed the room happily. On the far wall hung
what he had come for. Quickly, he loaded two of Lord Kharker's elephant rifles
with three rounds each and stepped back out into the main chamber.

The Captain flew erratically above the maze,
trying to outpace the bottles that dogged him. Ruegger was having a hard time
directing his tools properly because he could only see Raulf now and again,
when a rift opened in the cloud of glass and wine. Even then, it was only for a
second.

Not letting the barrage abate, he took aim with
one of the rifles—though he still could not see his target—and fired into the
heart of the din.

D'Aguila roared.

In a flash of anger, the Captain dove down
toward Ruegger, flying so fast that his great mouth actually emerged from the
glass cloud around it.

Ruegger fired into the mouth. The round halted
the Captain's dive for a moment, but only for a moment.

Ruegger fired again. The Captain shuddered.
Kept coming.

The Captain progressed so swiftly that Ruegger
ceased hurling bottles at him simply because they were now a danger to
him
.
The bottles dropped away, revealing D'Aguila—or the ragged ruin of the creature
that had been D'Aguila.

His wings were so smashed and shredded they
could barely keep the monster airborne, his thick hide punctured and broken in
too many places to name, and all the glass embedded in it made him gleam
obscenely like a blood-spattered diamond. His head, however, was still large
and viscous, and though D'Aguila must have been in intense pain, his smile was
savage.

Ruegger picked up the second elephant gun and
fired.

Reeling, D’Aguila hung in the air. He coughed
wetly, and his eyes glazed over. His wings beat slower, costing him altitude.
Realizing his imminent demise, the Captain tried to rouse himself. His eyes
snapped open. His wings beat fiercely.

Ruegger fired again, shooting the creature
straight through the brain.

D’Aguila fell, smashing two rows of wine before
striking dirt.

Ruegger glanced all around, on the lookout for
the second sentry. There, fifty yards away, was the soldier. The shade lay dead,
surrounded by a thickening pool of its own blood, and over him, his body
drenched in the fluids of his victim, stood Jean-Pierre.

Chapter 7

Jean-Pierre
nodded to Ruegger, and the Darkling returned the gesture. The albino had heard
or witnessed much of the action between the winged crocodile and Ruegger and
was surprised that the vampire had been the victor. He’d been ready to step in,
had this been called for, and in a strange way it disappointed the albino that
this hadn’t happened, as if he needed to intervene on behalf of the Darkling in
order to prove something. The feeling was ridiculous, of course.

"What are you doing down here?"
Ruegger asked, as Jean-Pierre stepped forward.

"I got lost in the maze,” said Jean-Pierre,
not wanting to mention his session in the cell with the Danielle look-alike.
Before Ruegger could push him, he said, "What was that thing?"

"I don't know. It called itself Captain
Raulf D'Aguila. The name sounds familiar. Let's put him to the question."

"Not just yet. There was something I wanted
to discuss with you, but not in front of Kharker."

"Can't it wait? There's a war going on up
there."

"No. It's finished." Jean-Pierre tilted
his face to the ceiling, listening, and the vampire mimicked the gesture. When
Ruegger appeared to comprehend, Jean-Pierre said, "See? It's silent.
Whatever happened, we missed it. Now, about what I wanted to say
…
 
"

"Yes?"

"I was thinking on what Kharker told us.
Bob and the
Sangro Sankts
and the kavasari.
I came to
think of Amelia, and the stories I’d heard of her death."

"Stories which were
greatly exaggerated, apparently."

"That's just the point.
She was made a kavasari
."
Something passed across Ruegger's face, and Jean-Pierre knew he was getting
through. "From what I know of kavasari—and I admit that's very little—they’re
extremely reluctant to make more of their kind. In fact, inherent in their very
existence is a purpose, and that is to eliminate immortal overpopulation."

"So the making of a kavasari is a deliberate
act."

"Exactly.”
The albino permitted
himself a small smile. "It makes sense that creating a new kavasari would
require a consensus of opinion among the elders of their kind—or, maybe, a
decision by their supreme elder.
Bob,
or whoever."

"You're saying that Amelia was made a kavasari
by the oldest kavasari of them all, the one who organized the cult that
protects Roche Sarnova."

"It’s only a theory."

Ruegger frowned. “It makes some sense, but I
don't know where it can lead. I mean, how could we investigate that? And what
does it mean if it's true?"

Jean-Pierre shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe
Bob was in love with Amelia from afar. Or maybe a new kavasari needed to be
brought over because of the exploding population of the shadeworld and Bob just
happened to like her politics."

"And since Amelia's the Scourer, that means
Bob liked the politics behind the Scouring—death to religion and evil."

"Politics which you share, Ruegger."

"I suppose. But it all seems to connect,
doesn't it?
The War of the Dark Council and the
Scouring."

"Maybe they do. The connective tissue is
Bob.
Or Amelia.
She could be a member of the
Sangro
Sankts.
"

"Maybe."
Ruegger slipped a hand
inside his jeans and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He seemed surprised to
find that they were whole but he didn't let the surprise distract him from
lighting one up. "Want one?"

"No," said the albino. "I'm
quitting. I need to be in control and focused for the days to come, not
preoccupied with vices. There will be plenty of time for vices when all this is
over."

"You seem very sure."

"I can feel it coming, whatever it is. Now
let's go interrogate that thing that was chasing you."

Ruegger disappeared inside the storage room and
emerged with a large box of shells. Opening it, he tossed a handful of long
cartridges to Jean-Pierre. They each loaded one of the elephant guns and moved
off into the maze, Ruegger in front and the albino close behind.

Having just fed, Jean-Pierre's senses were sharp,
and he could smell the wine and the blood and the earth in his nostrils so
acutely that he nearly ached with the sensation. He forced himself to
concentrate.

They came upon the Captain, lying sprawled among
the wreckage of bottles and racks. For his part, D'Aguila had shifted from his
reptile form to his more human form. Completely hairless, he was a tall and
obese man, his rolls of fat settling on his massive body and hanging to the
side as gravity claimed them. His eyes, which fluttered open occasionally, had
a mad reddish tinge, and they were deep and large and set far back in his
skull, each one gleaming like a moon of flame on a cloudy night. His teeth,
seen when he opened his mouth to smack his ruddy lips, were many and sharp, so
sharp they looked as if they'd been deliberately filed, but Jean-Pierre's
intuition told him that they were naturally that way. His wings were great and
dark and bleeding, half-crushed beneath his naked body.

At their approach, D'Aguila's eyes snapped open
and fixed on Ruegger. The Darkling pointed the elephant gun at Raulf's sweaty
forehead.

"Good evening, Captain.”

D'Aguila merely growled.

"If you're a Captain, then what army do you
belong to?" Jean-Pierre asked.

"I'm a Libertarian, you feeble-minded,
sun-whipped mongrel."

"You're from Liberty?" Ruegger said. To Jean-Pierre's
eyes, the Darkling didn't seem entirely surprised.

"That's right."

"Then you know Maleasoel."

"Know her, Darkling? I'm sleeping with the
bitch."

Ruegger cocked the rifle. "What are you
saying?"

"I'm fucking Ludwig's widow. In fact, I've
been fucking her since before he was murdered!"

Ruegger's eyes
blazed,
and Jean-Pierre thought that he might have to restrain the vampire.

"Then
you
killed Ludwig.”

"No," D'Aguila chuckled. "But I
did represent the faction of the Libertarians that wanted to proceed with the
plan to take over the world."

"You're the one that commissioned Junger
and Jagoda to kill Danielle and
I
. You hired Jarvick
and the other sand-rats."

"Wrong again,
Darkling
.
I was the one that blew up one of the buildings at Liberty and led the attack against Maleasoel.
We didn't mean to kill
her,
we just wanted to scare
Ludwig into delivering on his promises. He couldn't make up his mind about what
he wanted to do. He was a weakling, which is why Malie started sleeping with
yours truly."

"You're a pig," Ruegger said.

D'Aguila shrugged, indifferent.

Ruegger took a breath. "Do you have any
idea who killed Ludwig?"

"Why the hell do you think we're attacking
Lord Kharker—because we were
bored
?
No, you imbecilic leech.
Kharker claimed credit for Ludwig's
murder, and Malie wanted vengeance. She believed that the Great White Bastard
was covering for the Dark Lord, so she staged this attack so we could capture
him. Interrogate him."

"How many soldiers did you bring?"
Jean-Pierre said.

"Just enough to do the job: fifty of our
best.
Any more than that and we wouldn't have been able to
support ourselves, what with the meager sort of food we could find in the
jungle."

"Why did you try to kill Ruegger?"

"Malie wanted me and some troops to detain
him so that he wouldn't get hurt in the battle."

"
Detain
me?" Ruegger said.

"I only wanted to put your head in my
mouth, my teeth on your neck, and have you
submit
.
Then I would've released you. But
no
, the Darkling had to fight back!
Idiot.
Couldn't stand to be
upstaged."

"I should kill you now."

"Then do it, blood-boy," D'Aguila
grinned, sharp teeth shining. "Shoot me. Shoot me in the
belly,
make me linger for a while. I'll be in agony, dying.
Come on, it'll be fun."

Jean-Pierre could see the conflict in Ruegger
and understood what Kharker had told him about the vampire's nature. If it had
been up to the albino, D'Aguila would be dead now, his needling ineffective. Ruegger
was a different animal, an animal that thought
itself
moral while its native impulses said otherwise.

Eventually, Ruegger lowered the gun, but raised
his free hand. A knife glimmered there. Then Ruegger was on the ground and
sticking the blade into D'Aguila's throat.

"Get up," the Darkling ordered.
"Slowly.
One wrong move and I'll cut off your bald head
and make it watch while I feed your body to the alligators."

Raulf rose gingerly, his body still bruised and
battered, covered in blood and sparkling with countless pieces of glass that
stuck from its flesh like scales. Jean-Pierre watched all this, wanting to be
of help but finding Ruegger quite capable of handling himself. The vampire stood
behind the Captain, pressing the knife into Raulf's neck.

"Okay," Ruegger said. "Let's go
upstairs."

Staying behind Ruegger and D'Aguila so that he
could keep the rifle trained on Raulf, Jean-Pierre followed as the Darkling
maneuvered his prisoner up the stairs, using his mindthrust to open the door at
their top.

When the two had crossed into the upper part of
the Lodge, Jean-Pierre followed, and they headed for the foyer. The albino
heard a sound behind him and turned to find two of the jungle soldiers training
guns on him. Since they made no move against him, he ignored them.

The three entered the foyer, bordered on one
side by the sweeping staircase and adorned with animal trophies—hides, heads
and all. Sitting on the hide-covered floor and chained together were a dozen of
Kharker's Caucasian mercenaries. Over the bloody and taciturn men huddled a
group of Libertarians, their guns aimed and ready.

When Ruegger entered, shielded by D'Aguila's
bulk, the Libertarians all took a step back and re-trained their weapons.
Jean-Pierre moved to the Darkling's side but kept the elephant gun pointed at
Raulf.

"Move and I'll cut off your Captain's head,"
Ruegger said. "Stand down and lower your weapons."

"Do it!" said the albino.

The Libertarians turned to D'Aguila for
direction. The Captain sneered, but nodded his consent, and his soldiers
lowered their guns.

"Up here!" Jean-Pierre heard. He
peered upward to see a beautiful jandrow on the second floor landing, her arms
braced on the railing. She was a dark angel, he thought, with long black hair
and dark eyes, and the dark wings that she kept tucked behind her back looked painfully
fresh, as if they'd recently been torn off and had just grown back. Her black
clothes and black leather vest were those of an anarchist, as was the black
beret on her head. It was Maleasoel, he knew, although he’d never met her. The
Widow Ludwig, now commander of Liberty.

Ruegger smiled at her, but she didn't smile back.

"Please," she insisted, "release
Raulf."

The Darkling withdrew the blade from the
Captain's neck. Instantly, D'Aguila stumbled forward and spun to face his
tormentor, anger burning from every pore in his bountiful flesh.

"Calm down," Maleasoel told him. She
studied the albino. "You must be Jean-Pierre.”

"And you Maleasoel."

"Call me Malie. Now, the three of you, come
up here at once."

They joined her at the landing, and none of the
soldiers protested or moved against Ruegger or Jean-Pierre. Ruegger attempted
another smile and tried to embrace her, but she offered him a hand instead.

"Good to see you again," he said,
taking it.

"There's no time for that. This is
business."

"I thought revenge was personal."

"Not when there are as many people involved
in it as there are at present. I’ve duties and obligations to those I lead to deliver
justice."

Smugly, D'Aguila stepped in for an embrace, and,
seemingly reluctant, she allowed him to crush her against him. At once,
Jean-Pierre saw the truth of the matter. This woman had not slept with the
beast because she needed the intimacies that only he could offer her; rather,
she had known that Liberty was crumbling out
from under her and had chosen the Captain as an ally so that when Ludwig fell, Liberty would not. Or at
least its power would not be subverted by others with separate agendas.

She’d chosen well, in a manner of speaking.
A high-ranking officer with the respect of his men.
It
seemed to Jean-Pierre that the tactic had also paid off in that these men
called themselves Libertarians, implying that their cause had not died with its
father.