Underworld: Blood Enemy (20 page)

True enough,
Lucian conceded. He imagined dozens of terrified miners cowering in the depths of the mine. For a moment, he considered simply walling up the entrance to the mine and letting the trapped humans starve to death in the dark. But no, that would be a considerable waste of meat and manpower, not to mention brutally inhumane.
Better to give them a chance at life,
he reasoned,
provided they are willing to work just as diligently for their new masters.

“The battle is not quite over,” he announced to every lycan within earshot. “More mortals await below the earth, although I doubt they shall put up much resistance.” He drew his sword and advanced toward the opaque mine entrance. “Let us herd them up into the light.”

To his surprise, none of his warriors fell in behind him. Even Josef remained immobile, seemingly unwilling to follow Lucian into the murky hole in the mountainside.

“Well?” Lucian demanded of them impatiently. “What is it?”

Josef shuffled his feet, declining to meet his commander’s eyes. “The silver, sir,” he said sheepishly. “Surely you can’t expect any sane lycan to venture into that cursed pit? With all that silver everywhere?”

The man has a point,
Lucian realized. He could hardly blame his troops for not wanting to descend into the heart of a silver mine. Indeed, upon reflection, the very thought of being surrounded on all sides by the unmined element made his skin crawl. In his memory, Soren’s whips flayed his back anew.

“Very well,” he declared. “I shall clear out this rat hole myself.” Such a display of unwavering courage was sure to solidify his standing as pack leader. Besides, he figured he was more than a match for a crew of petrified miners. “Josef, watch over our prisoners until I return.”

He found a working oil lamp among the captured mining supplies and lit its wick before stepping beneath the timber supports of the mine entrance. Sword in hand, he entered the darkness.

The shaft descended into the mountain at a steep incline, and he quickly left the last glimmer of sunlight behind. Wooden columns supported the dripping limestone ceiling, which was far too low for Lucians comfort. The endless procession of ore-laden carts had carved deep ruts in the rocky floor of the tunnel. The air was stuffy and full of dust, so Lucian paused long enough to tie a rag across his nose and mouth in order to avoid inhaling any floating particles of silver.

The temperature rose dramatically the deeper he descended, and Lucian was soon soaked with sweat. Perspiration dripped into his eyes, but he was unable to wipe it away without dropping either his sword or his lamp. Groundwater seeped from the porous rock walls, explaining the need for the miners’ many buckets. The brackish-smelling liquid trickled down the floor of the shaft, making it more slippery than Lucian would have liked. Noxious underground vapors assailed his nose and lungs even through the rag, along with the reek of countless sweaty human bodies. Rats scurried away from Lucian into narrow side passages and drainage tunnels. Their beady eyes gleamed in the lamplight.

Thank fate the vampires never forced us lycans to labor in these infernal pits,
he thought, seeing for the first time a positive aspect to their hereditary aversion to silver.
How can these mortal
wretches endure such hellish conditions?

At first, there was little silver to contend with, the upper portion of the mine having been already denuded of the toxic metal; yet the farther he descended into the lower reaches, the more he became uncomfortably aware of the thick veins of raw silver running through the chipped and chiseled rock all around him. Black and bluish-gray ore, occasionally tinged with green, permeated the walls, floor, and ceiling, only rarely betraying a hint of silvers metallic luster. Quartz crystals glittered like diamonds amid the dull black ore, along with bright flecks of iron and copper.

The presence of so much silver made him feel distinctly queasy. He carefully stuck to the center of the tunnel, doing his best to avoid contact with the walls. If not for the thick leather soles of his boots, he suspected, walking down the shaft would be akin to treading over hot coals.

Am I mad to venture thus?
he asked himself.
Perhaps this was not my wisest decision.

He was almost ready to abandon his original purpose when he heard the muffled sound of hushed human voices directly ahead. Peering past the glow of his own lamp, he saw a flickering radiance at the bottom of the shaft.

He quickened his pace, coming at last to the deepest level of the mine, some one hundred feet below the mountain. Here the narrow shaft opened up onto a cavernous gallery, hollowed out by the miners’ strenuous exertions. Wooden pillars supported the ceiling. Oil lamps rested on rocky shelves, throwing shadows onto the damp stone walls, as well as onto a large iron cart half filled with freshly excavated ore. The makings of a bonfire—sticks, kindling, and so on—had been piled up against one wall of the cavern, preparatory to setting a blaze to weaken a particularly stubborn vein of ore. Cold water would be dashed on the wall after the fire had heated it, causing the solid rock to crack and crumble.

Lucian spotted the remaining miners. At least two dozen men huddled at the far end of the chamber, gripping their picks and shovels defensively. Accustomed to laboring in the purgatorial heat of the mines, the men wore only linen breeches cut off at mid-thigh. Their sweaty flesh was pale from lack of sunlight, so that they almost resembled the vampires who employed them. Powdered stone clung to their faces and bodies, all but masking their individual features. They eyed Lucian warily as he entered the gallery. German curses and exclamations met his arrival.

“Greetings,” he said before they could work up the nerve to attack him. His voice was muffled only slightly by the rag across his mouth. “My name is Lucian, and this mine now belongs to me. Lest you consider turning your picks and hammers against me, let me inform you that my forces now control your only means of escape from this pit. Unless you surrender at once, none of you will ever see daylight again.”

He paused to let his words sink in. Their stricken expressions were truly pitiful, and Lucian experienced a moment of sympathy for the unfortunate humans, even though he knew that, as mortals, they would gladly put every lycan and vampire to death if they could.
They should be
grateful that
I
am giving them the opportunity to serve us,
he reflected.
If lycans could mine
silver for our coffers, there would be no need for these mortals at all.

His eyes searched their grimy faces, looking for some clue to their intentions. Oddly enough, many of them kept glancing upward nervously. Lucian finally looked up as well—just in time to see an enraged male vampire skittering across the ceiling toward him!

Clad in a sooty black doublet and hose, the bloodsucker traversed the roof of the mine like a great black spider. Azure eyes glared at Lucian as the vampire realized the lycan had spied him.

Hissing loudly, he launched himself at Lucian, who dived to one side to avoid the plummeting vampire.

Damnation!
he cursed himself, realizing that he still had much to learn as a warrior and commander.
I should have guessed there might be a vampiric overseer lurking in these sunless
depths!

The vampire landed nimbly on his feet only a few yards away Lucian recognized him now as Zoltan, an undead nobleman who had visited Castle Corvinus on occasion. His dark brown hair was pulled away from his face and tied in a knot at the base of his neck. A drooping brown mustache framed a mouthful of ivory fangs. Virulent blue eyes glowed in the dark.

“Well, well, a lycan in a silver mine.” Unlike his human work crew, the cold-blooded vampire seemed unaffected by the oppressive heat of the underground chamber. Not a drop of sweat showed on his chalky white brow. “Now I’ve seen everything!”

“Times are changing,” Lucian informed him, brandishing his bloodstained sword. He wished that he could change, but without a full moon to awaken his inner wolf, he was trapped in human guise.

“Your days are numbered.”

“I think not,” Zoltan answered. Without warning, he dipped his claws into the half-filled cart and snatched up a heavy lump of raw ore. The vampire hurled it at Lucian with preternatural strength.

The lumpen missile slammed into Lucian’s gut, knocking the breath from him. He doubled over in pain. His lamp went flying from his fingers, creating a fiery arc that exploded onto the rocky floor only a few feet away from the piled kindling. Burning oil spread through the cracks and crevices running along the bottom of the carved-out gallery.

Clenching his teeth against pain and nausea, Lucian charged at Zoltan with his sword in a desperate attempt to drive the vampire away from the cartload of ore. But Zoltan dodged his sword thrust and grabbed Lucian’s other arm, using it to swing Lucian face-first into the wall. The impact jarred his senses, even as the silver embedded in the rock scalded his skin.

Taking advantage of the titanic clash between the vampire and the lycan, the fearful miners ran madly for the exit. Their racing feet pounded up the slanted shaft as they abandoned the spacious gallery to the dueling immortals.

“You should never have come down here, lycan!” Zoltan hissed as he came up behind Lucian and twisted his sword arm behind his back until the blade dropped from his fingers. Lucian struggled to avert his face from the noxious silver, but Zoltan mercilessly pressed Lucian’s profile against a wide vein of blue-gray ore. Steam rose toward the ceiling as the entire left side of Lucian’s face blistered and burned.

He fought to free himself from Zoltan’s hold, but the vampire was too strong. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucian spotted one of the gallery’s many wooden support pillars standing less than a foot away. In desperation, he kicked out at the vertical timber, knocking it loose.

The effect was immediate. The limestone ceiling groaned as though dying. Dust and fragments of rock began to rain down on the floor. Rats squealed in panic and scurried to escape. A largish chunk of ore hit Zoltan in the head, forcing him to release his grip on Lucian. He staggered backward, clutching his bleeding skull.

“Brainless lycan!” he ranted. He stared in horror at the crumbling ceiling. “What have you done?”

Lucian instantly realized the vampire’s dire predicament. Whereas he had a chance to escape the collapsing mine, provided he moved swiftly enough, the vampire had nowhere to run—except into the glaring daylight.

What’s more, Lucian now saw that the burning oil had set the miners’ bonfire ablaze. Flames crackled at the rear of the mine, filling the gallery with thick black smoke.

Time to make a run for it.
Yet, before he could reach the exit shaft, Zoltan leaped to block his path. “You’re not going anywhere, you lycan trash!” the vampire snarled, clutching a miner’s discarded metal pick. “We’ll perish together if need be.”

Lucian had no intention of spending eternity beside the charred skeleton of a vein-sucking vampire. Darting behind the heavy iron cart, he grabbed onto the edge of it with both hands and shoved it forward with all his strength. Iron wheels rolled along the ruts in the floor, zooming toward Zoltan like a battering ram. Legs pumping, Lucian ran the ore-filled cart right over the startled vampire, hearing Zoltan’s bones crunch beneath the weight of the combined silver and iron. His own boots trampled the vampire’s pulped remains for good measure.

Is he dead?
There was no time to find out. With a tremendous roar, the roof of the cavern came crashing down behind Lucian. Dust and debris came flying out of the gallery into the shaft beyond.

Letting go of the cart, Lucian squeezed past the heavy transport and bolted up the inclined shaft as fast as his legs would carry him. Halfway up, he encountered Josef running toward him. The one-eyed lycan had a worried expression on his face and his longbow in one hand. “Sounded like you needed help!” he gasped by way of explanation.

Not anymore,
Lucian thought. “Run!” he commanded, hearing the tunnel collapse behind him.

“Run for your life!”

Sunlight beckoned, and moments later, they burst from the mine into the gorge. A dense cloud of poisonous dust exploded out of the tunnel in their wake, accompanied by a thunderous rumbling that took several minutes to die down. Lycans stared, bloody jaws agape, at the noise and spectacle of the cave-in. Some cheered to hear the lethal silver buried beneath tons of falling rubble.

Lucian dropped to his knees, panting with exhaustion. Despite his fatigue, he felt exhilarated as well. Not only had he survived, but he had killed his first vampire.

Now the war has truly begun….

Chapter Nineteen

CASTLE CORVINUS

Courtiers and Death Dealers crowded the throne room as Viktor sat in judgment on the accused lycan. The Elder spotted a scattering of lycan servants present as well, busying themselves at their diverse tasks while slyly eavesdropping on the fate of their wretched sister.

Duplicitous vermin!
Viktor thought, seated on his ebony throne. A dark burgundy robe enfolded him, like the wings of a slumbering bat.
I should have had them all exterminated weeks
ago, no matter what the Council advised.

A bedraggled female lycan crouched on the floor before him. Silver-alloy manacles clamped down on her wrists and ankles. Greasy yellow hair fell across her face, obscuring her features. A coarse woolen kirtle hung in tatters upon her emaciated frame. Scars, welts, and bruises showed through the ragged garment, testifying to the thoroughness of Soren’s interrogation. She sobbed and muttered to herself, as though driven half mad by her ordeal.

Viktor felt no sympathy for her. “Well?” he demanded of Soren. “What did you learn from this lycan slut?”

The dour overseer stood behind his prisoner, his beloved whips draped over his shoulders. “This animal, known to her bestial comrades as Grushenka, denied any knowledge of your daughter’s…

indiscretions. But when put to the question, she confessed to passing notes from the princess to a certain lycan, making possible their assignations.”

Viktor winced inwardly to hear his daughters shame spoken of openly in his own court, but there had been from the beginning no possibility of concealing the scandal, not when Sonja’s crimes had demanded the lawful execution of a princess of the blood. Such a momentous event could not be papered over by any transparent tissue of lies. He could only hope that time would someday wipe away all record of his dear Sonja’s disgrace.

Would that my own memories could be expunged as well!

“Forgive me, Elder!” the manacled wretch cried out hysterically, apparently aware of her jeopardy despite her addled wits. “I knew not what the letters meant. I meant only to obey my mistress, as was proper!”

Viktor ignored the lycan’s fruitless rantings. He could barely bring himself to look upon the filthy wench, knowing that the ignorant animal had contributed to his daughter’s demise.

If only I had Lucian in chains in her place!

“She is to be shown no mercy,” he decreed. “Make an example of her. I want her drawn and quartered in the courtyard this very night.” A crescent moon guaranteed there would be no encore of Lucian’s galling escape. “See to it that her fellow servants are made to witness her punishment, so that they may see for themselves the dire consequences of such treachery.”

“Nooo!” the condemned bitch keened in alarm, until Soren knocked her senseless with the back of his hand. Excited murmurs arose from the assembled courtiers and their ladies, titillated by the notion of the gory spectacle ahead. Viktor could not remember the last time a lycan had been put to death in such a public and elaborate manner.

Perhaps that is where our error lies,
he speculated.
We have grown too soft in our
treatment of their kind.

He watched in stony silence as Soren’s minions dragged the lycan away to await her fate. He rose from his throne, intending to sequester himself in his private chambers until it was time for the lycan’s execution. He was in no mood to conduct any further business this night.

As he stepped down from the dais, however, he was approached by Nicolae. The pure-blooded heir was resplendent in a red velvet doublet and fawn-colored hose. “Pardon me, Lord Viktor, but might Soren and I have a word with you in private?” The Irish overseer stood silently at the prince’s side. “It concerns the lycan situation.”

Viktor scowled.
What new way have these vermin found to plague me?
Morbid curiosity, along with the courtesy due an Elders offspring, compelled him to nod in assent. “Very well,” he declared. “Let us retire to my solar.”

He turned to address a nearby Death Dealer, who was hovering near the throne hoping to overhear what the Elder had to say. “Kraven,” Viktor said curtly. “Attend us.”

“Yes, my lord!” Kraven replied eagerly, joining the other vampires as they exited the throne room and strode down a short corridor to the thick oak door that guarded Viktor’s private sanctum.

The Elder drew open the door and beckoned Nicolae and Soren to step inside. Kraven hastened to accompany them, but Viktor extended a restraining arm. He brushed past Kraven to enter the solar himself, leaving the bewildered Death Dealer outside in the hall.

“Watch the door,” Viktor instructed Kraven brusquely. “See to it that we are not disturbed.”

The frustrated Englishman tried in vain to hide his disappointment, much to Viktor’s private amusement. “Yes, my lord,” he said sourly. “I live to serve.”

Viktor chuckled quietly to himself as he shut the door in Kraven’s face. The young vampires naked ambition was positively comical. Kraven might well prove to be a useful underling, but Viktor was not about to make him privy to all his secrets just yet.
Perhaps later,
he mused,
after Kraven
has proven himself to be as discreet as he is power-hungry.

A
yearning for fresh human blood came over Viktor, and he felt an almost overpowering urge to glut his thirst on some insignificant mortal victims, if only to relieve the unbearable sorrow and anger that had weighed down his soul ever since Sonja’s tragic fall from grace. His bloodthirsty imagination pictured a terrified peasant maiden squirming helplessly within his grasp, crying out in vain as his avid fangs pierced her throat. He could practically taste her warm blood on his tongue, so much richer and more intoxicating than the tepid cattle blood the Covenant compelled him to subsist on.

It has been too long,
he reflected,
since I have indulged myself thus.
Such nocturnal sorties were his secret vice, known only to his most trusted subordinates.
I must go hunting again soon,
once this business with the lycans is concluded. Who knows?
he thought.
Perhaps I will bring
Kraven along to clean up afterward….

For now, however, Nicolae and Soren awaited his attention. He turned away from the door and sat down on a high-backed wooden chair facing the two men, who remained respectfully on their feet. “So,” he said gravely, “what about the lycans?”

“Another new volunteer to see you,” Josef announced heartily as he stuck his head through the doorway. He gave Lucian a lascivious wink. “This one says she knows you of old.”

Lucian looked up from his work. Parchments bearing sketches of the mining camp’s new defenses were strewn atop a long oak table that had once belonged to Zoltan before Lucian took the late vampire’s quarters for his own. Carved out of the very face of the mountain, from solid rock mercifully devoid of silver, the cavelike chamber had provided Zoltan with a private sanctuary safely cut off from the sun. Oil lamps gave Lucian enough illumination to work by, while an expensive Persian carpet, imported from the Holy Land, covered the hard stone floor.

She?
Lucian thought, puzzled. He had no idea whom Josef might be referring to—until the one-eyed Crusader stepped aside to admit a redhaired female clutching a naked infant against her bosom. “Olga,” he blurted in surprise.

“Shall I leave you alone?” Josef asked with a grin.

Lucian shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” Stepping away from the table, he addressed the woman directly. “Greetings, Olga. I must admit, I never expected to see you or your child again.”

He gestured toward a bench against a rocky gray wall. “Please, seat yourself.”

She remained standing, however, staring warily at Lucian as though she suspected a trick of some sort. Her closed expression betrayed little hint of what she was thinking. Mud and grass stains streaked her clothing, evidence of a long, hard journey from Castle Corvinus. Her baby, whose name Lucian knew to be Ferenz, sucked his thumb contentedly, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“So,” she said at last. “It is true what they say. You still live—and wage war against the bloods.”

Lucian heard skepticism in her voice. A pang of guilt tweaked his conscience as he eyed the M-shaped brand on little Ferenz’s bicep. He knew that Olga bore a similar brand on her own flesh—and that he had helped put it there.

“If you doubt me,” he asked her, “then why have you come?”

She was hardly the first to find him here. As word of his escape from the vampires’ dungeon spread, lycans from all over had sought him out to join his crusade. But never before had one of these new arrivals had so much reason to hate Lucian instead.

The former renegade thought long and hard before answering. “I saw you whipped in the dungeons,” she reminded him. Her voice was cold and flat, as though all emotion had been beaten out of her by the harsh rigors of life at the castle. “When the first few lashes drew screams from your lips, I rejoiced, glad that you were finally learning what it truly meant to be a slave to the bloods. But as the whipping went on, with each new lash stripping the flesh from your back, I suffered with you, realizing that you were still one of us after all. Then, when you rose up in defiance, striking out at the Elder himself, I rejoiced once more, but this time because I saw a werewolf stand up to a vampire—and live to tell of it. And that gave me hope that someday the rest of us might be free as well.”

Lucian felt himself deeply moved by the woman’s testimony. For the first time, he fully grasped that there was perhaps more at stake in this campaign than his own personal revenge against Viktor.

For countless generations, the vampires had oppressed his species, condemning him and Olga and all their kind to never-ending servitude and dooming Sonja simply because she, unlike the rest of the vampires, dared to treat a lycan as her equal.

No more,
he vowed.

“I give you my word,” he assured Olga. “I shall devote my life to destroying the vampires, even if it takes more than a thousand years.”

She nodded, accepting his promise. “Then Ferenz and I are where we belong.”

The baby squirmed in her arms and started to cry. She tugged her bodice off one shoulder and offered Ferenz her exposed breast. The brand on her upper arm was plainly visible as the babe suckled happily at his mothers teat.

Lucian contemplated the tender scene, and the reality of Sonja’s death tore at him anew. If not for Viktor’s implacable “justice,” he might have watched Sonja nurse their own child thus, but such an idyllic moment was never to be his. Sonja’s father had seen to that.

Watching little Ferenz feed, he could not help wondering what his own son or daughter might have become. Sonja had believed that their child, the half-breed offspring of pure-blooded vampire and lycan, would possess extraordinary attributes. Was that what had alarmed Viktor so much that he had put his own daughter to death? Did he fear the unknown power of such a hybrid?

It was something worth thinking about.

Nicolae stepped forward to address the seated Elder. “I’m afraid, my lord, that there is increased unrest among the servant population. Many of the household lycans, including my brightest and most able manservant, appear to have defected from the castle altogether, while those who remain grow ever more truculent and uncooperative.”

“It’s true,” Soren confirmed, frowning beneath his beard.

His whips still bore evidence of Grushenka’s blood. “The stinking curs have gotten goddamn insolent ever since… that night with Lucian.”

“You mean the night my daughter died?” Viktor said caustically, subjecting Soren to a withering glare. He had still not forgiven the careless overseer for letting Sonja fall under that lycan’s spell.
All
this might have been avoided,
he brooded,
if only Soren had warned me in time. I might have
been able to save Sonja from herself!

“Just so,” Nicolae agreed, diplomatically inserting himself between Soren and the aggrieved Elder. “Why, just last night, a lycan server deliberately spilled wine over my new satin doublet and displayed a singular lack of contrition when I upbraided her as she deserved.”

Viktor’s churning anger erupted to the surface. “Did I not intend to have every one of the vile beasts put to death after Lucian escaped? Yet you and the other Council members urged me to reconsider. It was too ‘drastic’ a step, you said, not wanting to do without your precious lycan servants!” His voice trembled with emotion. “It was not your wife or daughter who lost their lives thanks to these animals’ uncontrollable appetites!”

“No one is more conscious of your dreadful losses than I,” Nicolae assured him. “Still, one rebellious troublemaker, no matter how abhorrent his transgressions, should not cause us to reject in haste the venerable institution of lycan slavery.” He spoke in a measured and reasonable tone. “We have benefited from their servitude for many centuries now. Let us not proceed rashly.”

Viktor reluctantly saw some merit in the prince’s argument. Who would guard their fortresses by daylight if not the lycans? “What do you suggest?”

“The problem, simply stated, is Lucian.” Nicolae spat out the name, as though it were a curse.

“His escape and his success to date at eluding our justice have made him something of a hero to his fellow lycans. The rumor among the servants is that Lucian is even now raising an army to oppose the coven and that lycans from all over are flocking to his banner.” He rolled his eyes. “A ridiculous notion, of course. Doubtless, he is actually lying low in some deplorable hiding place, terrified of being recaptured, but our credulous vassals imagine him as some sort of lycanthropic Spartacus, destined to lead them all to moonlit glory.”

Soren snarled at the very idea. “I’ll show them glory,” he muttered, fondling the handle of a whip,