Part 2 (1/2)
Pounding hoofbeats caught his attention. He watched with interest as a lone rider came galloping out of the forest to the north. Marcus recognized the rider as yet another Death Dealer engaged in the hunt. The vampire rode into the village and alongside Viktor. Marcus strained his ears to hear what the man had to report.
”We found him!” the Death Dealer exclaimed.
Viktor instantly gave the rider his full attention. ”And?”
”We need more men.”
That was all Viktor needed to hear.”Find Amelia!”
Marcus looked on in secret as the female Elder withdrew a wet blade from her latest kill. Responding to Viktor's summons, she hurried to confer with the other Elder. They spoke in hushed tones too low for Marcus to make out, but within seconds a decision appeared to have been reached. Rounding up a half dozen Death Dealers to accompany her, Amelia galloped off into the very woods from which the rider had emerged, leaving Viktor and the remainder of their forces behind to contend with the transformed villagers. Marcus watched as Amelia and her men disappeared into the forest.
He had no doubt as to whom she sought, or why such reinforcements were required.
They have found William...at last.
He knew also where he needed to be. Shooting a glance at Viktor, he saw that the undead warlord was fully engaged in the ongoing battle against the newborn werewolves. Astride his armored destrier, Viktor hacked away at his foes with his broadsword, while simultaneously shouting out commands to his beleaguered troops. ”Show no mercy!” he cried out imperiously. ”Let not a single mongrel escape!”
He's far too busy to look this way, Marcus realized.
Confident that Viktor was preoccupied with other matters, Marcus took off after Amelia and the others. He rode briskly through the nocturnal forest, ducking the branches that threatened to unhorse him. Small animals scurried away as the charger's hooves pounded through the underbrush after the earlier riders. An owl hooted shrilly overhead.
Broken branches and trampled brush testified to the Death Dealers' pa.s.sage. The trail would have been ridiculously easy to follow even if the fallen snow had not preserved the overlapping hoofprints of numerous riders. Marcus knew he was heading in the right direction.
He only prayed that he could catch up with Amelia and the others before events pa.s.sed beyond his control. Much was at stake, not the least of which was his brother's ultimate fate.
I'm coming, William, he promised silently. I'm coming!
As if in response to his fevered thoughts, a deafening roar shook the forest. The roar bore some kins.h.i.+p to the growls of the werewolves back in the village, but was deeper in timbre and far louder. Compared to this thundering roar, those earlier growls were like the yelps of newborn puppies.
The colossal roar brought Marcus to a momentary halt. Even though he knew full well who-and what-had produced the roar, the blood-chilling sound was enough to daunt even the most determined spirit. He paused to steady his nerves, only to feel the ground tremble beneath his horse's hooves. The tremor shook acc.u.mulations of snow from the treetops, causing avalanches of white powder to rain down upon the floor of the forest. He brushed the icy flakes away from his face.
What the devil?
The source of the tremor was revealed as a knot of riderless horses exploded from the brush. They stampeded past Marcus, their eyes wide with panic. He held firmly on to the reins of his own steed, struggling to keep the anxious horse under control, while the other chargers fled for their lives. The saddles upon the horses' backs were ominously empty. Claw marks scarred the thick metal plates protecting the destriers' heads, necks, and chests. Steam jetted from their nostrils. Foam flecked their lips.
Marcus could not help wondering what had become of the horses' riders.
Another fearsome growl echoed through the night, followed by agitated screams and shouts. Heavy chains clattered in the distance.
It was all too much for Marcus's frightened steed. He dug his spurs into the horse's flanks, but the terrified destrier would go no farther. Marcus could hardly blame the animal, knowing what lay ahead.
Very well, he resolved. Dismounting, he tied the horse's reins to a nearby tree trunk, then set off on foot through the wintry woods. His boots sank deep into the fallen snow.
He did not have far to go. Within minutes, he emerged from the brush and bracken into a forest clearing deeply buried in snow. He froze in his tracks, taken aback by the nightmarish spectacle before him.
Under Amelia's command, a complement of Death Dealers vied against a huge albino werewolf, larger and more formidable than any of the misbegotten beasts back at the village. His thick, matted pelt was the color of the pristine snow. Rheumy pink eyes glared out from the creature's wolfen face. Herculean muscles bulged beneath his milky fur. His hot breath steamed the air.
William. Marcus gasped in recognition. My brother.
If the werewolf noted his sibling's arrival, he gave no evidence of it. Instead the t.i.tanic beast roared defiantly at the Death Dealers seeking to bring him down. The undead soldiers were spread out in a circle around their formidable quarry, blocking his escape in every direction. Taking care to stay out of reach of William's claws, they fired upon the werewolf with iron spears attached to links of heavy chain.
Crossbows, specially crafted for this purpose, launched the spears at William with tremendous force. The silver tips of the spears lodged deep within his flesh. He flailed about wildly as the chains snapped taut against steel spikes anch.o.r.ed to the ground and surrounding tree trunks. William howled in pain and fury.
Another archer took aim at the thras.h.i.+ng werewolf. A vicious-looking spear sprang from a crossbow, striking William just below his ribs. Dark blood stained the werewolf's pure white fur.
That the Death Dealers seemed intent on capturing William, not slaying him, provided Marcus with scant comfort. The sight of his ill-starred brother being tormented by the soldiers' lances was more than he could bear.
”No!” he cried out. ”Leave him be!”
Distracted by the Elder's cry, the archer failed to unhook the chain from his crossbow quickly enough. William grabbed hold of the links and jerked them violently, flinging the hapless Death Dealer into the air. The soldier's body slammed against a ma.s.sive tree trunk with bone-crus.h.i.+ng force. He slid down onto the ground beneath the tree and did not rise up again. Marcus feared that the vampire's neck had been shattered beyond repair.
One more life lost to the madness that had consumed his brother.
William roared in triumph, but his victory was short-lived. Marcus heard the tw.a.n.g of a crossbow being fired and watched in horror as a well-aimed spear pierced William's shoulder, pa.s.sing all the way through the bleeding meat and gristle. Vicious silver hooks sprang to life at the exposed tip of the spear. The second archer yanked back on the chain and the cruel barbs sank into William's leathery hide. The werewolf could not tug the spear free without tearing his flesh to ribbons.
The crossbow's chain feeder spun rapidly as William reared back on his hind legs and let loose an anguished roar. The second archer hit a switch on his crossbow and the chain came free. Another Death Dealer grabbed hold of the links and hastily secured them to the frozen earth. The chain snapped taut as William tried in vain to tug it loose.
”Stop this!” Marcus shouted. He felt his brother's wounds as though they were his own. ”You're killing him!”
Standing apart from the battle, Amelia looked at her fellow Elder. She had removed her helmet, which rested on the snow beside her feet. Her elegant face held a cold, inscrutable expression. Snowflakes glistened in her l.u.s.trous black hair. Her eyes locked briefly with Marcus's before she turned back toward her troops.
”More!” she commanded.
Ignoring Marcus, the Death Dealers fired spear after spear at their outnumbered prey. More chains were anch.o.r.ed to the ground, trapping the werewolf within the clearing. His brawny shoulders drooped beneath the weight of abundant chains, which hung tangled about him like a spider's web. His breaths grew ragged. He whimpered in pain and exhaustion.
Marcus could stand it no more. Furious, he grabbed one of the archers and hurled him aside with an Elder's strength. The armored soldier landed in a snowdrift over a dozen yards away. Fearful eyes peered from behind the Death Dealer's black helmet as he scrambled toward Amelia, seeking the other Elder's protection. His petrified expression betrayed his terror at being caught between two clas.h.i.+ng Elders.
”Enough, Marcus,” Amelia said.
Turning his gaze back toward his persecuted brother, Marcus saw that the deed was done. The spears and chains had done their work, overcoming even William's preternatural strength and endurance. Enmeshed in his chains, the werewolf collapsed onto the snow, beaten and bleeding. His chest rose and fell beneath his heavy bonds. Only this labored breathing a.s.sured Marcus that his unfortunate brother still lived.
”William,” he whispered hoa.r.s.ely.
Mixed emotions warred within his chest. It could not be denied that his brother had posed a dire threat to them all. His depredations had ravaged the countryside for years now, costing the lives of countless innocent vampires and mortals. Worse yet, his h.e.l.lish curse had proven d.a.m.nably contagious, creating an entire breed of subhuman monsters like himself. Before William had succ.u.mbed to the primeval infection in his blood, the world had never heard of werewolves. He had become the progenitor of a loathsome new species.
And yet, William could not be blamed for what he had become. Marcus stared in sorrow at his vanquished brother. If not for a capricious twist of fate, their destinies might have been reversed. He might have been born a vampire, Marcus thought, and I...an animal. He alone understood how hard his brother had fought against the curse.
But what would become of William now?
”Marcus!”
He turned to see Viktor stalking out of the forest, flanked by a complement of additional Death Dealers. The warlord's armor and sword were smeared with lycan blood. His helmet had gone astray somewhere, exposing a craggy, weathered face. Although immortal, Viktor resembled a man in his early fifties-the very age at which he had become a vampire. Pale brown hair, streaked with gray, hung past his shoulders. He appeared enraged to find Marcus present, in defiance of his instructions.
To h.e.l.l with him! Marcus thought furiously. The red-haired Elder drew his sword from its scabbard. He had his own grounds for anger. His voice rang with betrayal: ”He was not to be harmed! Place him in my charge as we agreed, or you will pay for your deceit!”
A chorus of metallic threats greeted his threat. Looking around, Marcus was surprised to find himself targeted by dozens of loaded crossbows. His jaw dropped as he realized belatedly that the Death Dealers took their orders from one Elder and one Elder alone.