Chapter 129: Vampire war (1/2)

Boston, December 2nd, 1861

“We may begin,” the Speaker says. I find it hard to gauge the mood of an assembly of people whose survival depends on self-control, and yet I can taste concern in the air. One of us has had less need to manage their own emotion on account of being powerful from the start. I do not believe that I had ever seen Constantine angry before.

“Before anything else, we have an unfortunate affair to resolve. Sephare, if you will?”

“Thank you, Speaker.”

She smiles, like the cat who caught the bird that had been flitting around him. She makes no secret of her satisfaction.

“We have found a traitor in our midst, one who has sent detailed military information to our foes.”

I did not think that immobile people could grow even more immobile. The absence of motion in this room now defies the very laws of physics.

“A few weeks ago…”

Sephare goes on to explain her ploy, how she sent different cache locations to different lords to see which ones would be breached. A few of the lords tilt their head, and I know that those are more curious than worried now.

“And someone fell into the trap. The location of the breached cache was sent to only one person. Lord Yann?”

I have come to bear witness to Sephare’s moment of triumph. For three weeks now, the tall, hawkish man and the petite blonde have engaged in a complex diplomatic dance with the prize being the conduct of the war. Yann leads the minority group preventing the majority of vampires from supporting the Union. Some of the recalcitrants have firm ideas about racial hierarchy. Others see no way for their holdings to survive the end of slavery in decent shapes. The last few, however, are mercenaries who consider the crisis as an opportunity to sell their votes. If the deadlock continues, our faction will be forced to pay them an astronomical prize for their allegiance. If it breaks, they will have gained nothing but our resentment. Theirs is a dangerous gamble. They do not seem to care.

Yann leads them.

As Sephare expected, the man believes himself as too smart for his own good, typical of those whose intellect only shines in the company of their lessers. He has looked down upon our community, and now the community has come to give back, in the person of a miffed Progenitor.

“Those are lies, shameless lies! If this is all—”

Constantine’s voice barely rises, and yet every other sound is silenced.

“I have borne witness to the setting of the trap. I have verified the artefact myself. Jarek sacrificed himself so that we would know the name of those who sold us out. You were generously granted confidential information that our enemies obtained, Yann, information that they could not have discovered on their own.”

“How can you be so sure!”

Constantine’s fist smacks against the liquid stone table. Its surface turns into a forest of glistening spikes, though none come to pierce his skin. Yann stops talking.

“No games. No stupid denials. This is no mortal court of law in a piddling village, Yann. The next words coming out of your mouth will be a proper explanation, or I will exact the sentence here and now.”

The Speaker’s unyielding manners remove the bluster from Yann, but not the pride.

“You have no way of proving my guilt. The message could have been intercepted, or one of my subordinates—”

“A level above us, there is a facility,” Constantine interrupts yet again, “dedicated to extracting the truth from beings to whom the mercy of death has been denied. The accusations laid against you are grave, Yann. Do not waste my time.”

I know of this facility very well. One my my fingers twitches. Behind me, Melusine’s hand presses against my back, out of sight of the others.

I almost want Yann to keep denying. The little prick deserves it.

Eventually, he realizes that his bluff is called.

“Alright, I admit to sharing the message, but it was not for their benefit. You see—”

Ten, twenty, thirty bloody chains of cruel magic erupt from Constantine and the walls. They cover the rebellious lord with blinding speed and through overwhelming numbers. To me, they feel… alive. They move organically like so many snakes. If Medusa was real, her hair would be like that. And Yann is caught in it.

The numerous slithering restraints tighten around the man as he mutters something. In a way, Constantine showed generosity. If he were innocent or misled, he could have used the opportunity to defend himself efficiently. Yann was neither innocent, nor misled. He was greedy.

The chains contract, then dismember him.

A purple light. Ash. The death of a lord.

Just like that.

Silence rules while we all feign indifference with varying degrees of success.

Eventually, all eyes now fall on the most awkward member of our congregation: Yann’s second. He is the only younger Master among us. His voice breaks the silence.

“Could you hold off killing me for a minute? I want to enjoy that smarmy bastard’s death.”

“I have a use for him,” Sephare declares, probably saving his life.

The nest of angry chains rattles in the air, their heavy links ignoring gravity altogether. I realize that more chains stand from the Speaker’s back, those black and void. I see a blade and a weight on either end.

Chains? What a curious soul weapon.

“I will consent to sparing his life if he proves himself useful to our cause. Now, for the vote.”

With Yann’s second reversing his position, we go one more round, and I almost expect his block to remain entrenched. It appears, however, that the opportunists in the Secession camp have felt the winds of change, and they vote with us.

It could have been the remains of their leader still staining the table.

In any case, the majority of two thirds has been reached. Constantine allows the Warden of Carolina to make a small declaration, and he announces that, in short, he will be heading out to new lands where proper racial order is still the norm. Constantine allows him to leave while his second immediately becomes the de facto leader. The deadlock has been resolved.

“Henceforth, the Accords will work in the shadows to bring this war to a swift and decisive conclusion. Those who do not wish to assist are free to do so, but they may not help the Confederacy, and they may not hamper the efforts of the Union faction on their land, up to and including the presence of mercenaries, but not that of other vampires. If you have objections feel free to contact me in private. The meeting is adjourned, as we have a war to plan.”

As before, we trickle out of the council chamber and retreat to our individual wings to discuss and scheme. To my surprise, Melusine requests that we speak together first, and we walk to my private chambers for a little discussion.

“I have no doubt that the powers that be will drag you into yet another daring play of the immortal field, and so I would like to take this opportunity to discuss what we can do for our mortal side,” she tells me as soon as we are settled

I frown.

“We are already supplying many regiments with superior weapons, not to mention the better guns. We have already solved a lot of mobility issues.”

“And this is all well and good, but you are always thinking at squad level. Ariane, you have always fought skirmishes with a hundred combatants or less, where tactics and superior gear makes a difference.”

“That is not entirely true,” I pout, but she is not done.

“The only major battle you orchestrated from start to finish happened on your home ground.”

I fail to see how that matters.

“My point,” she continues with some impatience, “is that you are thinking too much about the battle itself. A higher firing rate matters some. Artillery support matters some. Logistics matters a lot.”

“You mean, like food?”

“Food is fine on our side. I am talking about munitions. Bullets. This is what matters the most, especially in large scale engagements, such as we will have before this is all over. Munitions is where the nerve is, and where our profits will be made. It does not matter that infantrymen can shoot fast if they can only shoot thirty times, and badly. We need to provide bullets for them to train, and fight.”

This… makes a surprising amount of sense. The main argument I was offered against repeater rifles was that soldiers would waste bullets. I found that stupid, but if someone is poorly trained and they fire their daily reserves of bullets in the first fifteen minutes of a day-long battle, I can see how this could lead to disaster. Especially if they tend to miss a lot.

“Keep producing guns, but focus your efforts on bullets and bullet packaging. I will take care of the transportation. I have ways,” she concludes.

Melusine has a keen sense of opportunities. I will trust her on that.

“Very well. We should return to the others.”

“You return to the others. I will return to Chicago. There are opportunities to seize now that others will grab if I delay. Win us the shadow war, and I will handle the mortal one.”

“I will count on you.”

“And one last thing…” Melusine finishes as she pushes the door open, “remember that our allies care more for victory than for your well-being.”

“I know this, but I also know that Bertrand will demand my head if there is a peace settlement to his advantage. I have no choice but to commit myself to the cause.”

“Perhaps not. Bertrand has a vision, and he is not an emotional creature. The reason why he sought your demise was one of convenience, and he is now after you because your continued survival illustrates his failure. Your death only matters to him insofar as he must make a point. Sephare might be right, or she might be trying to keep you firmly on her side.”

“You think she would lie to me?”

“I think she would present the information that encourages you to remain firmly on her side. You have no idea how useful a reliable battle Master is. She can deploy you without fear of betrayal or second-guessing. You know what the reward for competent work is.”

“More work?”

“Indeed. Consider making a plan of your own to carry out so that Sephare has to look elsewhere for agents, or you will forever be her hand.”

“You’re right.”

“As always. Sephare certainly has a plan to exploit Yann’s demise. I expect that you will be called shortly. Keep what I said in mind for next time.”

I nod, and she stands up to leave while I am left thinking. In our society, appearance is everything. I must strike a delicate balance between contributing to the war efforts, and being perceived as more than Sephare’s stooge. Ah well.

A knock on the door, and I am once more summoned to meet with our leaders.

To my surprise, I am not invited to Sephare’s personal quarters like last time, but to a floor deep within the fortress where I was quite sure there used to be a training room. It was converted into a strategic headquarter some time while I was gone. I enter through a secured door to find the heart of the war effort.

Constantine stands in front of a board with a complex assortment of documents linked together by strings, and complex runes in some alien construct that only he could interpret. Sephare and two of the Cadiz lords, Ceron and Suarez, inspect the massive map set on a central table. The walls of naked stone and blue magical lights lend the room a strange air, as on the map, the mundane and the secret mix. Two conflicts, four sides, and extremely high stakes.

For the first time in forever, my intuition activates outside of combat. I see the tiny dots showing troop concentrations superimposed with stylized chess pieces representing major vampire squads. They mix and merge in a strange dance, parallel yet separate at first, then things change. Then blue dots merge around the black ones, and some of the grey come as well. White, red, and black dots join the insane dance to form a defensive vortex, for something has come upon the map.

A grey mass of viscous fluid spreads across the land like a vile mold. It starts in villages, in faraway places and on forgotten battlefields, of which there will be many. It feeds upon the dead and dying. It harvests the forgotten, those who have been cut off. It spreads silently through remote valleys until all elements gather into an unstoppable tide, one of teeth and gnawing bones. It is too late then, too late.

“They will eat until nothing is left, while the eyes and blades of man are turned on each other.”

Yes. This is right.

“Ariane?”

I blink. Everyone is staring at me.

“Hmm, yes?”

“You have the gift of prophecy?”

“I, uh…”

“That was an aura blast, of course she does. What did she say? Let me write it down,” Constantine mumbles as he grabs a loose paper.

I just outed myself.

“Does this happen often?” Sephare asks with widened eyes.

“Absolutely not.”

“Shit. Fuck! The eyes of men? I need to reactivate our dormant information network.”

Ceron and Suarez nod thoughtfully.

“Cancel the order to consolidate mage structures. We must allow them to spread wide, invaders be damned.”

“Errr, you are all taking this quite seriously,” I notice, surprised at their reactions.

“You must have a latent gift. That explains how sometimes you dodge things that you should not be able to see. Every experienced fighter eventually develops this ability, but you must have had a seed of power to obtain it so fast. If someone with only a hint of talent feels the web of fate enough to produce a prophecy, then the event must be momentous indeed,” Suarez explains as Ceron takes notes, “a threat will come during the war and we will be ready.”

“Hm. If you say so…”

I am a bit at a loss. Between this and the thorn roots issue, there is much I need to explore, but there is no time now. Before I can further react, Sephare finishes what she was doing and drags me next to the table. She points at the center of the East Coast.

“I need your help yet again, and for a delicate matter. We are, once more, on the defensive. I need you to lay a trap for us.”

Melusine did warn me.

“What did you have in mind?”