Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 6

Chapter Five

  There is nothing quite like having a reason to gorge. I took two tonight, since I am not dining solely for myself: the first, a woodsman, with fresh, salty blood and sweat smelling of pine and the outdoors; the second, a homeless street vagrant from Drisdak. The vagrant’s blood, steeped in alcohol, nearly made me retch, but once I got past the first taste, I drained him all the same.

  I am bloated now; my flight through the night air is little more than an awkward glide. Up ahead, Clarissa is coming into view, waiting on the parapet with her golden hair glittering in the moonlight. She is no doubt hungry from the long wait. Hungry, yet in turmoil. Her face is twisted in a strange mask of desire and self-loathing, a mask born from the conflict between her human soul and the sanguinary desires that now besiege it. The bloodlust will triumph, of course, but it is a fascinating show. Perhaps, I shall prolong her wait ... yes, I think I shall do a circuit—who knows what might be sneaking up on us?

  “Lucian! Where are you—? I’m hungry!” Ignoring her, I fly by. She continues to call out, driven by the strength of the bloodlust, but I have other plans; she will not take her nourishment for granted—I have been far too indulgent with her. I pause for a moment, making one quick circle in the air to torment her before speeding off again, then chuckle with a bat-like chirp. Tomorrow she will be forced to hunt for herself and I will be free to visit the guild house. Arcalian had found some way to wipe my presence from the place and I would like to thoroughly entrench myself before someone else wipes it clean again. It is far too troublesome to get oneself reinvited every time one visits. I suppose that is the danger when toying with wizards: they always have some annoying little tricks to use. How many toils could I have avoided if not for man’s scheming spells?

  There is little sign of danger around the castle, no would-be thieves breaking in in the dark of night. The woodlands are much the same as usual, twisted and perverse, and I can hear the Children of the Forest howling in the distance—a plaintive song that stirs my soul.

  Having completed my circuit, I land upon a balcony of the highest tower, high above the tallest trees. Clarissa runs toward me, leaping across crenellations and parapets in the night.

  I take the wolf’s form as I wait, and howl once to the Children, adding my voice to theirs. She is getting closer now, crawling up the side of the wall, almost upon me. I return to my human form as she crests the edge; she pulls herself onto the balcony with immortal ease.

  Holding out my arm, I slash it near the wrist. Blood flows quickly from my bloated body, but she has attached herself to me before the first crimson drop hits the hard stone floor. Her teeth are sharp on my arm as she tries to speed her drink, but pain means nothing to me; I scarcely feel it.

  Patiently, I wait.

  She feeds a long time, drinking from my arm and licking the splattered blood from my wrist. At last, I deem she has had her share.

  “Enough.” I pull my arm from her grasp.

  The bloodlust has gripped her and hunger drives her on. “More… give me more…” She grabs at my arm.

  The back of my hand sends her careening into a wall. She is immortal and strong, but I have a thousand years on her—she is little more trouble than a man.

  She screeches in rage. “Why? Why did you strike me?”

  “You must learn your manners, love. One does not make demands of one’s master.”

  “But I’m hungry! I need more blood.”

  “You have had enough. If you desire more, you can hunt for yourself.” My patience is growing thin. I will not tolerate disobedience.

  “It’s too late. I’d never make it back from town before the sun—you know that.”

  “The forest is full of animals—not as tasty as a man, but nearly as nourishing in times of need.”

  “I don’t want to eat a wild pig!”

  “A couple of days ago, you would have never dreamed of consuming men—that has changed now, has it not, my love?”

  “That’s different. I am not driven towards animals as I am ... men.” Her face twists in a perverted amalgam of rage, desire, and disgust. “I hate you for this,” she says, motioning to her own form. Spying a stray drop of blood that managed to find the floor, she bends down to lick it up.

  “Why is that, my love?”

  “You ... made me. I had no choice. You could have killed me, but instead made me into this horrible thing. Curses on my soul, Lucian, I was a warrior, not a heartless murdering monster.”

  “You are fickle, dear. Which do you think more honorable—to kill in war for some noble’s petty aims, or to kill for food?” She seems uncomfortable at that remark. I pause to stare meaningfully at her before I proceed. “Don’t you remember that you specifically said you did not wish to die? I remember that clearly. I thought it very generous of you to willingly offer yourself as companion to me. A fellow immortal to provide some comfort through the coming centuries—“

  “I made no such offer. You took advantage, you brought me into this hellish world of yours against my wishes. I was forced into this by you. You—“

  “Condemn me, then. Howl my sins to the heavens and shriek my crimes to the wind. I am evil, my love. Your pronouncements mean nothing.”

  Silence greets my words. She does not know how to respond to someone who embraces his villainy. Irritated with my remark, she crosses her arms and purposely looks away. At last, she speaks. “Why do you keep calling me that? My name is Clarissa, not ‘love.’”

  “Because I care for you so deeply.” My chuckle does little to lighten her mood. “In truth, I call you that because it amuses me and annoys you ... there is no other reason.”

  “Well, stop it, Lucian. I don’t like it.” She seems almost sad, in a human sort of way, almost as if she were reminiscing about an old romance.

  An irritated smile crawls across my face. I have grown weary with her petty human mannerisms and her conviction that what happens to her actually matters. She will learn her place. “You have little choice in what title I call you by, my dear. I, however, have much in mine. By you, I prefer the term ‘master’ to my name. It has a much more pleasing ring to it.”

  Suddenly, her eyes flash in angry rebellion. “I will never call you mas—”

  A moment’s worth of concentration and she is on her knees gripping her skull. Her head bends back, eyes bulging, and she begins to shriek in an inhuman voice. The Children of the Forest go silent as she starts to writhe on the castle stones.

  “You have a strong will, woman.” I stroll away from her toward the balcony wall. Silgaren, high in the sky, glows bright white. In the east, Neerie, too, has lifted itself above the horizon. “But as you say, I made you. Against me, your will is useless. You are my slave.” I turn to look in her direction and watch as she struggles to stand. Blood is seeping through her fingers as her own claws rake her face. “Would you like the pain to stop now? It can, if you like.”

  Her voice is a strangled whisper. “Please ... make it stop.” Sneering with contempt, I release my hold. She collapses on the ground with an inarticulate cry, and then begins to weep; tears of blood streak down an already blood-stained face.

  “We have learned a valuable lesson this evening, have we not?”

  She looks up at me, face twisted with loathing and rage. She swallows once, and slowly forces the emotions from her face. “Yes ... master.” She bows her head in submission.

  “That’s much better.” Despite her current cooperation, I am still somewhat doubtful of her sincerity. Perhaps a further lesson is required. “The Sun should be rising soon; you may retire now, if you like. I, however, will stay up to watch Him rise.”

  She looks up puzzled. “The sun? You can watch the sunrise? But I thoug ...”

  “What? That vampires fear the god of light? I see Arcalian was not as thorough in his research as he led you to believe. I guess even wizards can sometimes confuse myth with fact. Come, stay with me to greet the dawn and we shall rid you of your fears.”

  She stil
l has a puzzled look on her face, but she does remain.

  We wait through the night, watching the great Silgaren complete its course, the smaller Neerie following. A grey light begins to feed the eastern horizon, then the sky begins to turn in color; Clarissa starts to fidget, her nerves frayed. Rosy pinks streak across the firmament, vibrant stripes of orange spread out. I grab her wrist to soothe her—and to restrain her—and the sky begins to glow. I too feel the urge to run, the fear welling up in my soul as the night breathes its final breath.

  At long last the fiery lip of the sun peeks above the horizon, blazing fiercely in the dawn. It glows with a brilliant light, forcing my eyes away. Beside me, Clarissa is transfixed in terror, unable to move. A shaft of morning light stabs across the sky, striking her in the shoulder. She screams, struggling against my grasp, and a thin tendril of smoke wafts up from her breast. I watch in fascination as a pale flame comes to life. It dances across her neck and arm, spreading across her chest, and reaches with fiery fingers towards her face. The smell of burning flesh rises in the air, filling my nostrils, and the stench of death fills my lungs.

  “Liar!” She screams, kicking and pulling at me, struggling to break free.

  I stand before her, quivering from the Sun’s gentle touch. The blazing eye gazes across the sky at us and engulfs us in its glow. Clarissa shrieks in agony as fire scourges her flesh. For myself, the light does not leave me unscathed. I feel the strength of gods ebb from my limbs and the age of untold centuries weigh down upon my shoulders. The spirit of wolf and bat flee from my grasp and I am locked in my present form. Clarissa, her head and body bursting in flames, lands a kick on my shin. Surprised, I let her go. Burning and screaming she flees into the safety of the castle shadows. I watch her plunge into the depths of my keep, unwilling to follow. She will live. And recover. Perhaps, she’ll even be a little wiser. She has learned to fear the Sun, and above all else, she has learned to fear me.

  I turn to face the Sun, squinting at His brilliance. “Greetings, Lord of Dawn,” I say with a hint of wary respect. “It has taken me nearly a thousand years to bear Your sight and stand before your power. Now, at last, after myriad trials and countless ordeals I can endure your dreadful touch.” My voice drops to little more than a whisper. “Now, at last, I can look out across the wilderness sprawling beneath You and see it the way it was meant to be seen.” I stare for a moment, studying the surrounding forest. It is much different beneath the light—alive, full of colors, and rippling with the sounds of early morning. The night has left, and the nocturnal beasts lie sleeping in their lairs. Indeed, the morning has brought an unexpected change to the woods. They seem almost ... peaceful. The tranquility, however, is fleeting. The light playing in the trees stirs ancient memories in my brain. The screams of men echo in my head and my vision is obscured by a field of blood. A woman’s face floats before my eyes, a woman I once loved ... and feared. Turning, I face the Sun again. “Mighty One, after all is said and done, it seems the day is not something I truly miss. I leave You to it.”

  With that, I retire until dusk.