More Than Mortal (45 page)

BOOK: More Than Mortal

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Marieko was taking an increasing dislike to Taliesin, and she hardly bothered to conceal it. “Perhaps you should have consumed a being who was more informed than Columbine. It might have better prepared you for the changes.”

The Merlin was using his fingers, stuffing Heinz Baked Beans into his mouth with a determined gluttony. Red-brown sauce had dripped on his previously white kimono. Sucking his fingers and wiping his chin, he ignored Marieko and nodded toward Renquist. “Will he also remain?”

“Of course, if I’m needed.”

The Merlin laughed and washed down the beans with a local soda pop called Tizer. “If you’re needed? Of course you’ll remain. You wouldn’t miss a chance to study a real live Urshu. I understand you, Victor Renquist.”

Renquist might have imagined Taliesin as a pig, but he was carefully editing his imagination. He was rapidly becoming convinced that Fenrior and the others were seriously underestimating the Urshu, with the possible exception of Marieko, who was positively simplistic in her undisguised loathing. The Merlin might be busily creating the impression of an uncouth slob on the far side of disgusting, but Renquist still remembered when he had first woken and assumed the golden Bowie form. The Urshu was as immortal as any nosferatu, and certainly as powerful, if not more so. He might even be
able to read minds. Renquist was quite convinced the thing swilling soda pop and spilling beans on itself was just another illusion designed to keep them collectively off balance. The only advantage the five nosferatu had was that Taliesin knew next to nothing about the world into which he had awakened, and the only deception open to them was to keep him convinced they were buying his act.

The Merlin was again pawing through the platter of assorted snacks, seeking an even more gross combination and supposedly considering Fenrior’s suggestion he remain at the castle until he was prepared for the complexities of the outside world. “You have books and things that I could study?”

Renquist knew Fenrior was about to boast of the size of his library, but Gethsemany preempted him. “We not only have books. Since I prevailed upon my lord, we also have television.”

“Television?” The Merlin spoke the word experimentally, as though there might be danger even in uttering it. “What is television?”

“Descriptions are pointless. You need to see it for yourself.”

“When can I see one?”

Gethsemany smiled. She was able to play the charming hostess under just about any circumstances. The party seemed about to move, taking Merlin to the nearest TV set, when a discreet knock on the door caused them all to turn.

“Enter.”

Goneril stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry t’ disturb ye at such a crucial time m’ lord, but there’s a problem on th’ causeway.”

“A problem?”

“Duncanon has detained two foreign nosferatu.”

Marieko stood up. “That will be Destry and Julia.”

Renquist was gripped by a feeling of rapidly sinking. “Julia?”

“She intends to rescue you.”

“The last thing I need right now is to be rescued by Julia.”

A dozen Highlanders, strung out across the causeway with drawn claymores, were clearly no coincidence. They were waiting for something, and Destry had little doubt they were waiting for her and Julia. The constable may have groveled and scuttled, but he must also have relayed word to the castle of the strange nosferatu on their way through the village with their black horse. “I don’t like the look of this at all.”

Julia concentrated. “I can sense Victor and Marieko inside the castle, but not Columbine.”

Destry scanned the sky. The moon was setting behind the mountains. “I fear we have less than an hour before dawn.”

Julia took a deep breath. “It would appear we have three options. We confront them, we surrender and throw ourselves on the Lord Fenrior’s mercy, or we flee.”

Dormandu whickered, and Destry quieted him. Perhaps he remembered the Highlanders from the confrontation at Ravenkeep. “I’ve never thrown myself on anyone’s mercy—neither human nor nosferatu.”

Julia was staring at the wild Highlanders, and Destry realized this was the first time she had ever seen them in their rough barbarian glory. “And how would you categorize these creatures?”

“Oh, they’re definitely nosferatu. They may be uncouth, unkempt, and some are downright filthy in their personal habits, but they are definitely our kind.”

Julia looked grimly down the causeway. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You’d better believe it. It would be a big mistake to dismiss them as just crude or stupid.”

Julia and Destry were both unarmed, something they not only regretted, but also for which they had only themselves to blame. Columbine had insisted on packing
a selection of steel, but it was still in the Range Rover. No one had thought to place even a pair of weapons in the horse box when the four had parted company. Even so, to match swords with so many Highlanders would have been nothing short of suicidal.

“You had better mount up.”

“What?”

“You said you didn’t care to surrender, and I am not about to turn tail and run, so you’d better get on that horse of yours. If we’re going, we might as well go in style.”

Destry again had to gentle Dormandu, who sensed trouble on the wind. “And where exactly are we going?”

“The only place we can go. Into the castle.”

Destry glanced back at the village. “Maybe we could hide in one of the houses until sunset comes again?”

Julia sighed. Destry really wasn’t thinking. “And wait for Fenrior’s thralls to search us out and drive stakes through the pair of us while it’s still daylight?”

Destry slowly nodded. She placed one foot in the stirrup and swung herself up into the saddle. “So what exactly is our intention?”

“To bluff or brazen it out. That’s all we have left.”

The two of them moved slowly out onto the causeway, Julia walking slightly in front of Destry on Dormandu. A single Highlander, clean shaved and slightly neater than his fellows, stepped out in front of the line, but otherwise the Highlanders didn’t move. “Let’s hope we look sharp enough to make an impression. It’s always been claimed that courage impresses the primitive. Although I have observed it sometimes pisses them off.”

Julia quickened her pace, and Destry urged Dormandu forward. The young Highlander in front of the others allowed them to come about fifty paces, and then he held up a hand. “Tha’s quite far enough, lassies.”

Julia didn’t stop, and Destry took that as her cue to keep Dormandu moving. As a measure of command
came into Julia’s voice, her German accent also deepened. “And who might I be addressing?”

“Ye’re addressin’ Duncanon o’ Fenrior, an’ I just told ye both t’ stop where ye are.”

“And I am Julia Aschenbach of California, and this is Destry Maitland of Ravenkeep, and we have business with the Lady Gethsemany.”

Duncanon seemed to think about this and then dismiss it as unimportant. “Tha’s a fine horse ye ha’ there.”

Even in the tension of the moment, Destry could not control her pride. “He’s a Uzbek.”

This impressed even the unpleasant Duncanon. “A Uzbek? I’m damned if he is.”

“Then you are certainly damned, my friend.”

“Order Duncanon to back off.”

Goneril shook her head. “He willna’, take i’ fra’ me, m’ lord. He’s th’ Captain o’ th’ Bridge, an’ I only command th’ Nightwatch. He figures he’s taken two nosferatu captives, an’ ye know wha’ he’s like when th’ bit’s between his teeth.”

“He’s an arrogant, undisciplined little bastard.” Fenrior rose and snapped his fingers at Gallowglass. “I will have to correct his manners myself.”

It was the first time Fenrior had rolled his rs in Renquist’s hearing. He seemed to enjoy the word
correct
. The Merlin looked around, surprised he was no longer the center of attention. “Is something amiss?”

Renquist and Marieko were also on their feet. Only Gethsemany remained seated. Now the Merlin seemed quite put out. “Is everyone leaving?”

Gethsemany smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, Taliesin. I’ll keep you company until they’ve resolved this small problem.”

Once out of the room, Fenrior, Gallowglass, and Goneril descended flights of winding stairs with both a nosferatu speed and surefooted accomplishment of long
practice. Fenrior snapped orders at Gallowglass as he went. “How long is it to dawn?”

“Under an hour, m’ lord.”

“Then the first thing you’d better do when we get down there is lay some mist. Thick enough to hold off the sun if need be.”

Renquist and Marieko were left to follow as best they could and listen while Goneril filled in the details for the lord. “In addition t’ th’ pair o’ undead captives, I think Duncanon also fancies th’ horse as a prize.”

Fenrior glanced back “Horse?”

“Aye, m’ lord. A big black stallion. The female riding claimed i’ was a Uzbek.”

“Nonsense, the breed died out years ago.”

“I’m only repeatin’ wha’ th’ female said.”

Renquist called down the stairs to Fenrior. “As a matter of fact, it’s true. I’ve ridden the beast. It really is one-quarter Uzbek.”

Fenrior was adamant. “Then that’s all the more reason to hurry. Even a quarter Uzbek must be protected at all costs. A stallion, you say?”

Apparently Julia and Destry might be expendable, but the Uzbek was a prize beyond price.

“Tek ’em, lads, but din’a harm th’ horse.”

Destry had seen troops of all kinds charging through the night. She had seen North Vietnamese regulars charging the wire at Khe San, and faced the MPLA in Angola, but she could recall nothing as fearsome as the silently running Highlanders. She’d heard their human counterparts had attacked with full sound and fury, but these undead clansmen uttered no howls or cries, and even their footfalls were close to soundless. An extra eerie dimension was added by a strange mist that rose from the loch, rearing over the bridge and causeway in climbing tentacles. Dormandu snorted and reared, and Destry struggled to keep her seat. Julia, on foot, was quickly surrounded, with a ring of gleaming claymores
leveled at her. Destry, still in the saddle, would have been similarly helpless, had not an overeager Highlander grabbed at Dormandu’s bridle, thinking it would be easy to take the horse from its unarmed rider. To his surprise, Dormandu reared again, lashing out with his front hooves, one of which caught the man squarely between the eyes. The Highlander staggered back, blood streaming down his face.

Duncanon let out a roar of fury. “Wha’ did I tell ye, ye damned fool? Harm yon beast, an’ I’ll ha’ y’ fuckin’ head!”

Duncanon, however, had another problem. Blood was in the metaphoric water, and while he might be able to command Highlanders defending a castle that hadn’t been under attack for nearly two centuries, the young nosferatu had neither the experience nor the authority to maintain discipline in the face of free-flowing blood, and the possibility of his company lapsing into an unnatural frenzy. To further complicate matters, Dormandu decided to go on an offensive of his own. He bucked and snorted, eyes red-rimmed and furious, now lashing out with his back hooves, as the warhorse DNA of generations of selective breeding by Pathan Gash (the Merciless and Eternal) came to fore. This time, two Highlanders went down, and more undead blood was flowing. At the same time, Destry rolled from the saddle. If the Uzbek was going to do battle, she could only be an encumbrance by remaining on his back. As Dormandu kicked front and back, she went down on one knee, to avoid being the accidental recipient of a flying hoof. Four Highlanders were immediately on her, sword points poised at heart, throat, and eyes.

Dormandu continued, on the other hand, to hold his own, he moved in tight circles, lashing out each time a knot of Highlanders gathered to attempt to subdue him. Duncanon himself tried to make a grab for the Uzbek’s bridle, and only avoided being severely kicked by throwing himself flat on the cobbles of the causeway. Infuriated,
he yelled at one of the Highlanders who had Destry on her knees. “Decapitate th’ bitch. Maybe th’ beast’ll calm down, if i’ has no mistress t’ protect.”

The Highlander swung his claymore back ready to take Destry’s head clean off, but immediately a terrible roar came from the gates of Fenrior.

“DON’T YOU DARE!”

The Highlanders froze in their tracks. Dormandu bucked and pranced, but didn’t lash out at any of his now motionless foes. Destry scrambled to her feet and ran to the horse, attempting to soothe and pacify the angry stallion as five figures came out from the gates and strode toward the horse, the Highlanders, and Julia and Destry.

“Marieko?”

“Victor?”

Julia dusted herself off. “I came here to rescue you, Victor.”

Renquist looked Julia up and down with a certain degree of amusement. “Perhaps you should have checked with me first. As you can see, no harm has befallen me.”

“I understood you’d been kidnapped.”

“I was, but that situation has been rectified. Julia, I’d like to present Fenrior of Fenrior.”

BOOK: More Than Mortal

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