XLI - The Vampyre Ludovich

  “I shall take the adult,” Vlad said to her. “As such, I leave the small one in your more-than-capable hands.”

  “Aye.” Sybil nodded without taking her eyes from her foe. She gently placed her expended crossbow onto the ground at her feet and drew her whip, which she uncoiled with a single, authoritative flick. Her dagger glistened in the moonlight as she pulled it from its sheath with her free hand.

  “Do not let his childlike appearance fool you, Night Owl,” the older Plague doctor said. “Remember all that I have taught you regarding the deception of vampyres. That creature will likely try to convince you that it still possesses its youth and innocence. It is imperative that you not get caught up in its ruse.”

  “You needn’t worry, Mr. Alb— Ibis. I shan’t fall for any of its nasty little tricks.”

  “Very good,” he said. “Now, let us make good on our promise to these vile abominations and put an end to them quickly. To arms!”

  “So the sparrows wish to play, do they?” the older vampyre said. It looked at the boy and smirked. “Come, my son. Let us send these stinking Plague doctors to meet your mother in hell.”

  Both creatures of the night rushed forward with blinding speed. Sybil did not give her foe a chance to reach her; she recalled her countless hours spent training against those wooden dummies with blade and crossbow and silver whip alike, and, emboldened by the memory of her efforts, she lashed her whip forward with a powerful, practiced strike. The whip slammed into the boy-vampyre midway through its stride; it hissed with equal parts surprise and pain as it fell backwards and crashed its body into the flagstone ground. Sybil followed up with another lashing of the whip. The boy managed to crawl back onto its hands and feet and leap away from the incoming blow, but the end of Sybil’s whip caught the creature in its leg, opening up a fresh line of agony in its calf. The nosferatu remained crouched like a gargoyle and watched in stunned confusion as the thin streams of smoke floated up from both of its new wounds.

  “Never faced silver before, have you, strigoi?” Sybil said. “You may find that it is not terribly agreeable with your tainted flesh.”

  Sybil lashed with her whip again. This time the vampyre managed to completely avoid the incoming blow; it nimbly dodged the length of chain and rushed at the Plague doctor’s apprentice before she could recoil her weapon. Sybil allowed the thing to draw near, then slashed along its open palm with her dagger when it attempted to strike. The vampyre yelped with this new pain and backpedaled several steps, but was unable to get away before Sybil brought her whip back around and struck the creature across the face. The boy touched its face with its clawed hand and stared down at the undead blood which covered its pale finger tips. Sybil lashed once more at the distracted creature and managed to wrap the chain around the thing’s bleeding leg. She immediately swept it off its feet with a swift pull.

  Meanwhile, Vlad met his own foe with the edge of his silver sword. His blade clashed with the vampyre’s sharp claws, eliciting a harsh clang that echoed through the darkness of the empty street. The vampyre pulled away and came in for a second strike, which Vlad handily parried. After a third deflection, it pulled back from their dance and glared at its foe.

  “You can always distinguish a whelp from an aged vampyre by their method of hunting prey,” Vlad said. “A more experienced strigoi knows how to show restraint so that it can furtively dine upon a single mortal for a number of meals before they finally perish. It is able to resist the urge to so recklessly slaughter its prey in the streets. Your inability to fight your own bloodlust tells me just how fresh you are to this immortal life of yours.”

  The vampyre bared its fangs. “Not so fresh that I cannot slay one of the Goddess’ damnable hounds!”

  It charged at the Plague doctor with its hand opened wide, its claws ready to slash at its foe. Vlad would not give it the chance to strike. He loosed a quick slash at the incoming hand and immediately severed all of its fingers at the second knuckle. The vampyre’s useless claws fell away as black blood splashed from all five stumps. It stared at its ruinous, spurting stumps in disbelief for only a moment before Vlad brought his sword back around in a deadly chop, which cleaved the monster’s hand and forearm down the middle, his blade not stopping into it had almost reached the elbow.

  Vlad pulled his sword free of the split arm and watched as it fell limp at the creature’s side. The Plague doctor followed up with another swipe which severed its remaining hand at the wrist. Stygian liquid flew from this sixth stump as Vlad swept the vampyre’s feet with his leg. The strigoi had barely hit the ground before Vlad pulled his silver dagger free and embedded it in the creature’s stomach, up to the hilt.

  Only once it was properly subdued did the strigoi finally have a chance to vocalize its supreme agony.

  While Vlad overpowered his foe, Sybil prepared to finish off her own. She approached the restrained nosferatu as it lay on its back writhing and twisting with the torment of its bindings. She continued to hold the handle of her whip in one hand, as well as the hilt of her dagger in the other. The silver blade glistened with its hunger; it was ready and eager to finally slay the beast that rested helplessly on the ground in front of it.

  The vampyre looked at her between its desperate thrashings. It saw the blade in her hand, and it understood her deadly intent. The creature steeled itself, sat up straight, and did its best to ignore the silver-induced anguish that bubbled along its leg.

  “Please, spare me,” the boy croaked pathetically. “I never wished to do this. I never wished to be like this. But the Master… the Master forced this wretched life upon me.”

  “Who is this master of yours?” Sybil asked. “Is it the one you claim to be your father?”

  The vampyre shook its head. “No. He truly is my father. And the one you already slew was my mother. The Master turned all three of us—transformed us into such terrible monstrosities. I was just a boy, a mere child, and He took my life away from me!”

  “Surrender the location of your master, and I shall grant you a swift end,” she said. “You can rest easy knowing that he will soon follow you to the grave.”

  “Spare me, and I will lead you to Him,” the boy said. “Unbind me from these cursed chains, and we can slay the fiend together!”

  Sybil hesitated for longer than she would have liked before speaking next. “My mentor and I are more than capable of destroying him ourselves. Now, you will give me the information that I require, or you will suffer the consequences of withholding it.”

  She wished she had sounded much more confident in her delivery of those words.

  “You cannot slay Master Ludovich on your own,” the boy said. “He surrounds Himself with more strigoi than a Plague doctor will likely see in an entire lifetime of hunting. You shall need my aid if you wish to succeed in destroying him.”

  Again she hesitated. The dagger wavered only slightly in her hand, but she was certain the vampyre was able to detect such a minute change in her demeanor, and she cursed herself for allowing it to happen. “You would do and say whatever it takes to retain your own skin. As such, your threats hold no merit.”

  “I do not say this to threaten you,” the creature said. “I say it to warn you. I want nothing more than to aid you—to aid myself. I shall not go to my grave in peace unless I personally see to His destruction myself. You have the power to give that to me.” He paused, smiling at her kindly with a close-lipped mouth, his fangs nowhere to be seen. “All you have to do is release me from this chain.”

  Sybil stood staring at her captured foe for a long while. She did her best to keep her dagger level and ready to strike, but she could feel her confidence beginning to slip, and she knew that the strigoi must have noticed her change as well. Even so, it showed no signs of excitement or anticipation over watching its attempt to trick her edge that much closer to fruition; instead it continued to look at her with that same warm, calm, reassuring smile. Maybe it was being sincere with her after all, she thought. Perhaps her mentor had always been wrong about the true nature of vampyres. It—he—was so terribly young. Perhaps turning at such a youthful age had allowed him to retain some of his old self. Perhaps—

  Her thoughts were interrupted when the darkness-drenched tip of Vlad Albescu’s silver longsword exploded from out of the nosferatu’s chest. The creature’s glowing eyes went wide and dim much like its mother’s had before it collapsed to the ground without so much as a whimper.

  Sybil glared at her mentor from behind her mask. “I had that under control, Ibis.”

  “Did you, now?” Vlad shook the inky blood from his blade. “Because from where I stood, it looked as if you were hesitant to slay that fiend, and in fact were moments away from allowing it to go free.”

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  “I was questioning him about his master,” she said.

  “Him?”

  “It,” she corrected. “It told me that its master, a vampyre named Ludovich, possesses a host of strigoi greater in number than a Plague doctor would likely see in a lifetime of hunting.”

  “Perhaps even two lifetimes, if we can slay that sparrow hastily enough,” the surviving vampyre said through its grunts and spits of agony. It chuckled in spite of its pain. “My dear departed child told you no lie. You haven’t a chance of defeating my brethren and Master as you are now, with only the two of you.”

  Vlad and Sybil approached the subdued monster as the older Plague doctor spoke. “And will you make the same offer that your spawn did? To assist us in slaying your master should we find enough kindness in our hearts to spare you?”

  “No,” the strigoi said plainly. “I hold no delusions of surviving this night. I simply wish to inform you of what fate awaits you, should you try to pursue my Master. He is a powerful creature in His own right, but He secures His dominance in this region by turning as many bodies as He sees fit to in order to surround Himself with loyal vassals who shall defend Him with their second lives, should the need arise.”

  “Defend him from what, exactly?” Sybil said. “Plague doctors?”

  The creature chuckled again. “Little sparrows such as yourselves are of no threat to Master Ludovich. But another strigoi—one of comparable power—now, such a foe might consider twice before attempting to usurp my Master’s throne when he learns how formidable our Family is.”

  Sybil shared a glance with her mentor. “I did not know that vampyres did battle against each other.”

  “It happens from time to time,” Vlad said, “when resources grow scarce and two competing bloodlines of nosferatu wish to lighten the burden a bit. I suppose we ought to thank them when this happens, since they turn to eliminating each other, which lightens our burden.” He returned his attention to the impaled vampyre lying on the ground. “You shall tell us where to find this master of yours, strigoi. If you do not speak willingly, then you shall be begging for your second death by the time we are finished pulling the information from you.”

  The vampyre smirked. Dark liquid escaped from its mouth and dribbled down its chin. “There is no need for such violence, little bird. I shall gladly provide you with the information that you seek.”

  “A cooperative strigoi, eh?” Vlad said. “I suppose there truly is a first for all things—assuming you are not attempting to deceive us. Such an attempt would be a very foolish mistake on your part.”

  “Far be it from me to deny you the early grave that you so desperately seek,” the vampyre said. After a slight pause, it went on. “Master Ludovich resides in the port city of Dusktide to the south. Follow the coastline and you should arrive in a handful of days’ time.”

  “And what of this city?” the Plague doctor said. “Do any more of your ilk haunt the streets of Bravana?”

  “None but the three of us. But you may feel free to tarry here in order to confirm the truth of my words while Master Ludvich’s Family grows stronger by the day.”

  “Why were the three of you here,” Vlad said, “and not with your abominable master in Dusktide?”

  “Master Ludovich had planned on one day forming a new chapter of the Family in Bravana,” the strigoi explained. “We chosen three were meant to spend a number of decades feeding and growing more powerful, and when the time came, He would’ve given us permission to begin turning others on His behalf. You two sparrows have brought a swift end to such machinations.” It licked away some of the darkness seeping from its mouth with its long, reptile-like tongue. “Oh, how I wish I could bear witness as my brothers and sisters tear you limb from limb. I warn you that they shall certainly not make it quick. Your prolonged agony will taste absolutely delectable upon their vengeful palates.”

  The creature began its bellowing chuckle, which Vlad quickly silenced by thrusting his sword clean through its chest. The strigoi went stiff, the glow leaving its eyes just as it had for its two companions before lifelessness overtook it, and its body went still.

  Vlad knelt down and pulled his dagger from the vampyre’s gut. He wiped the black blood on the thing’s clothes before he stood, sheathing his blade while at the same time lowering his hood and pulling his mask from his face. Sweat dripped from his unkempt beard and unruly hair, which was longer than Sybil had ever seen it before. The girl followed his example and removed her own mask. She ran a hand through her soaking hair, and was surprised as ever to feel just how far above her shoulders it fell. It would take her some time to grow used to the recent change.

  She looked at her mentor. “What do you think, Mr. Albescu? Can we trust his words?”

  “We’ve no other choice,” Vlad said. “It certainly got one thing correct, at the very least—assuming it did not lie about this Ludovich, then the creature’s family certainly grows greater in strength the longer the fiend remains unchallenged. We must make for Darkwater and eliminate this menace at once.”

  Sybil remembered the crying woman kneeling on the ground a few meters away. Her heaving sobs echoed through the quiet street. Sybil looked at her pityingly. “What about her?”

  Vlad approached the woman, a warm smile upon his face. “Worry not, my lady. Your ordeal tonight has certainly been harrowing, but it has finally come to an—”

  His words were silenced when he saw the twin streams of blood flowing from the woman’s arm. His warm smile gave way to the most grim, defeated frown.

  The woman looked up at him as she continued to cry, her eyes streaming in a way that mirrored her arm. “It hurts, sir. It… it hurts so badly. Worse than any pain I have felt before. And I feel so weak. What did… what did they do to me?”

  Vlad crouched in front of her while Sybil came up behind him. When she saw the pair of wounds, she grimaced.

  “Let me see your injury,” he said. The woman cautiously offered her bleeding arm to the Plague doctor. He gently took it into his hand and gave it a quick review. “One of these creatures bit you, did they not?”

  She nodded. “Yes. The… the mother did.”

  Vlad sighed. “As I feared. I ask, then, that you forgive me for this.”

  The woman only held her look of confusion for a brief moment before Vlad unsheathed his dagger and plunged it directly into her heart. Her body convulsed as her eyes twisted with shock and terror. Vlad gently laid her expiring form to the ground. After another few moments, she went completely still.

  “You’re certain that was necessary?” Sybil said, only slightly taken aback.

  Vlad shot her a grave look. “Are you truly going to question that now, after all that you have seen and learned?”

  “Her attacker was slain mere moments after biting her,” Sybil said. “Does that not make a difference in whether or not she would have turned?”

  “The process of turning into a vampyre is not well-researched enough for me to answer your question,” he said, “but I know for certain that she at the very least would not have survived that bite. The vampyre venom was already inside of her, which meant it would have brought her life to a slow, agonizing end. If I have not spared her from joining the ranks of the wicked undead, then I have at least spared her from this.”

  Sybil was not fully satisfied with his answer, but she held her tongue. When she did not speak, Vlad climbed back to his feet and went on. “I shall toss the three strigoi into the bay—the moving tide should be enough to rend their corpses into oblivion. In the meantime, you must search this woman and collect any valuables from her. This may seem cruel and opportunistic, but it is better that this city’s guards believe her death to be the result of a robbery gone awry. With any luck, they may think nothing of the puncture marks present on her arm.”

  The girl nodded. “Alright, Mr. Albescu. I shall do as you ask.”

  “Very good, Sybil,” he said. “We must act with haste and depart from this city before this woman’s body is discovered.” He looked up at the bright crescent moon which seemed to stare down at them condescendingly from its perch in the mighty night sky. “It would do us no good to get caught up here when we have a new foe who is so desperately in need of being set free.”

  ___

  Scarlet sat enjoying a glass of crimson liquid much like she had every night since coming with her Master to Dusktide. Beneath the light of that bold crescent moon, the sinister drink took on a new degree of flavor that simply could not be achieved during the day.

  She was with her Master and His two hounds, Billow and Brimstone, at the otherwise empty dining table. The rest of the Family were out tending to their midnight tasks while Scarlet and her Master enjoyed their time together in the gloom. Neither of them had spoken for a long time, because neither of them needed to. They were so very far beyond idle conversation now; so very far beyond boring, useless words.

  Her Master broke the wonderful silence between them when He suddenly raised His hand to His heart with a distressed grunt, knocking His own vermillion glass asunder in the process. The glass fell to the ground in front of the lounging Brimstone and shattered. The hound sat up lazily and lowered her head to sniff the red liquid. She then began lapping it up, running her tongue over drink and shards alike. Billow made his way over to her and began sniffing at the liquid, but she chased him away with a single gnashing of her sharp, flame-cloaked teeth.

  “Are you alright, my Master?” Scarlet asked while she swirled her drink.

  He allowed a few moments to pass before responding. When He finally did, the quiet rage was evident in His voice. “The three whelps in Bravana have been slain.”

  Scarlet placed her glass onto the table. “Do you suppose it was Ignatius’ doing?”

  “No,” her Master said. “He could not possibly have known that we were planning our expansion into that city, and I highly doubt he’d otherwise have reason to travel there, only to happen upon our brewing scheme by chance. Their seemingly random demise possesses the unmistakable reek of a Plague doctor.”

  “Anything for us to be concerned over?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “Those whelps were blooded hardly a month ago. A newly fledged sparrow could have destroyed any of them with ease. But if this bird is worth even half of its feathers, it would not have finished its job without first acquiring knowledge of our Family.” Scarlet’s Master opened a palm in the direction of her drink. The glass slid its way across the table before leaping into the air, its stem landing gently between His fingers. He took a deep swallow of the liquid, allowing its redness to paint his deadly-sharp fangs. “Which means our new friend shall likely be delivering themself to us before too terribly long.”

  The Vampyre Ludovich placed the glass back onto the table and licked his dripping fangs clean.