Chapter 130: Plans within plans (1/2)

I land on the floor, rolling on myself and coming to my feet in a well-practiced move, only to exchange spells with another figure in Yann’s boudoir. Our spells devastate the precious furniture, sending shards and upholstery up in the air.

“Bolt.”

“Shield… Flay!”

“Hive. Bind.”

I slash with Rose and a claw to keep the chains at bay. They do not break. I merely manage to fend them off as I spring back.

My foe’s voice is calm and almost bored. I recognize her from the previous battle. She was the Lancaster archmage who tried to trap us, a short lady with black hair and eyes. She shares some of Melusine’s traits, including her voluptuous form.

Bertrand waits by the hole in the wall.

They are toying with me. ARROGANT. And correct. Unfortunately. The sun is still out and will be out for hours. The house is sealed, its only escape route blocked by the lord’s armored form. To be prosaic, I am truly and utterly fucked.

How did it come to this? How could they already be here?

“You know, I have heard that honorable foes are easier to predict than dishonorable ones. I find this simplistic theory amusing,” Bertrand says.

I back up against the wall as the powerful warrior steps forward unhurriedly. The petite Lancaster lady stays where she is and brushes a wood splinter off her dark armored robe. She does not spare me a glance.

“In truth, you can count on scoundrels to act like scoundrels. I always found Yann to be too arrogant for his own good, even when he was but a candidate peddling horses for the royal Musketeers. And I thought I would be the one to kill him.”

What to do, what to do? Can I get past him? I do not believe that I can. Even if I could, the escape tunnel leads outside at some point, where the sun still rules. I cannot stall for reinforcements because it will be days before they arrive.

I am completely done for.

Damn, I thought I would be killed by mortals in a clever trap, or by my sire. Not by them. How very frustrating.

Bertrand still waits by the wall, managing a casual poise in his heavy carmine armor.

“Remember our agreement. I want to know about her quirk,” the Lancaster lady says.

“Yes, yes, I do not forget my promises so easily, woman.”

I frown. My quirk?

“My dear Martha refers to your uncanny ability to charge your claws, and apparently soul weapon, with alien essence. Such techniques are rare outside of the Vanheim bloodline. I am confident that she will manage to… extract all relevant knowledge from your person.”

Not this again.

“Oh no, despair already? I expected more fire from the sane spawn. Let us see if I can revive the flames of hope. Hmm. Do you know why I am so powerful?”

I do not reply. I find him annoying, though I admit to some hypocrisy. After all, I too enjoy toying with my prey.

“My Magna Arqa is simply superior. Although lords are all mighty, some are simply mightier than others. And I am more than most. The length of time one can maintain a Magna Arqa also depends on willpower, and we Roland have that aplenty. The thing with Magna Arqa, is that it cannot be deployed during the day.”

My eyes widen. Does he mean…

“Yes. Right now, it is your magic and blade against my axe. We are both weakened, and the escape tunnel is so close, yes? If you reach it, I will not pursue.”

I expected Martha to protest his decision on account of the risk, but she merely rolls her eyes in an uncharacteristic display of impatience. Her confidence says a lot. She does not think I stand a chance.

I must still try it.

“Martha, do stay out of our little wager.”

“Just get it over with, you insufferable scoundrel.”

IT IS ON.

Lunge. Parry. Quick swipes. Bertrand deflects Rose with minimal movements of his massive battleaxe. His counter-strikes are simply devastating. I block the first and am sent through yet another wall into a receiving room with its French windows mercifully boarded. I deflect the second and it still bites painfully into my gauntleted forearm. I yelp in pain.

“Flay!”

Bertrand let the first spell harmlessly splash against the axe’s wide blade, ducks under the second and brings the axe back, cutting into the tip of my extended right foot. That hurts too.

I try to keep Bertrand at a distance, making full use of Rose’s versatility to remain dangerous, but he always strikes where I will be, or close enough that his Herculean strength alters the trajectory. I feel like fighting someone who is in my head, though I am certain that he is not interfering. Bertrand’s battle experience is simply so massive that he must know what range of motions are available to me at all times. Even denying obvious baits and fake openings is not enough to remain one step ahead. It happens again. I mess up and an axe blow catches me in the flank.

I groan and jump back to my feet. I just thought of something. It is nasty, but I will attempt it anyway. It is FOLLY. No. I must try folly or I will fall.

I remove a smaller revolver from a back pocket, praying that the mud I am still covered in did not damage the mechanism.

“How unusual.”

I aim at Bertrand.

Then to the side.

And I pull the trigger. The magically-enhanced projectile damages the wall and the thinnest, tiniest ray of sunlight pierces the gloom between the Lord and me.

Bertrand jumps back with a hiss. I am already gone backward and to the side.

THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN. Shut up, me, I know. I made it happen.

The far wall separating the receiving room from the bedroom. It stands in my way.

“Shred.”

The spell blasts away the reinforced partition and I jump through. The bedroom. I rush to the central place. A trapdoor, still open.

There is a crash behind me and my back turns into a sea of fire. It hurts. IT HURTS. I scream.

Blinding pain.

CANNOT MOVE. I do not feel my legs anymore. Just pain. I try to move an arm, and stop with a gasp. It hurts so much.

Footsteps behind my back. I wish I could lose consciousness, but I cannot. This mercy is denied to me.

The man stops. I can only see the edge of the bed. Every movement is agony.

I hear a sound and my body buckles, then I hear a terrible crunching noise of flesh and bone as he tears off something from me, and my mind is lost.

PAIN

“Ahaaaaa.”

The blade of an axe, glistening with dark blood. That bit deep. Fucker threw his weapon and took my spine. I think.

“Not bad, little Devourer. Very astute of you. I like your style. I do not, however, like the sun. I believe that you use it a bit too generously, for a vampire. Perhaps I should instill some fear back into that devious head of yours.”

The axe dematerializes and something drags me back. I can only see the walls and some cabinets now, then I am held upright. We are back in the receiving room. I did not realize it, but we trashed that place completely.

Bertrand holds me by the neck and left arm. I can feel his hand on my neck, but the left arm flops uselessly. He brings it closer to…

Oh no.

“Please…”

Not this again. Not this again.

“Such a double-edged weapon for the likes of us, do you not agree?”

The armored arm gets ever closer to that thin ray of deadly radiance.

“Just a little bit, for the memory.”

Close so close now.

And then it stops.

“Did you feel that?” Martha, the Lancaster lady, asks from the other room. Please please please I only feel pain. Just get me away from that.

“Yes.”

Dragged back again, thank the Watcher. Just please get this horrible radiance away from me.

Still held upright. Still hurts. Back into the bedroom now, I can only focus on keeping my mind together. It takes all my Ekon essence and my experience fending off the insanity of the Thirst to keep paying attention to my surroundings. I perceive a… pulse. It comes from my sarcophagus? It does. But… why?

My old protection. My haven against the day. Loth designed it long ago, and Constantine reinforced it with intricate carvings and protective enchantments. Red light shines ominously along its silvery flanks. Martha grabs the lid and pulls, in vain.

“Keyed to her.”

“Can you crack it?”

“Not in a reasonable timeframe. The protections here are… impressive. I recognize two different styles, two masters at work. Besides, we do not need it. Simply place her hand against this lever and the artefact will recognize its master.”

So very strange, I do not recall a beacon being placed here and I carefully inspected the workings to make sure that Constantine had not left any surprise. And then I realize it. There are no beacons, this is just Constantine’s essence powering the spells directly.

How is this possible?

As I muse the conundrum, Bertrand places my unresponsive hand against the handle and the lid slides open.

A defensive spell triggers anyway.

Powerful red light crashes against my two foes. I recognize an area-of-effect pain construct.

Bertrand bellows, and drops me.

A chain emerges from inside the lids and fastens around my wrist. I am pulled in just as the lord roars in anger.

Another set of chains emerges from other defensive constructs to attack my assailant. The lid snaps close while they are distracted. I hear powerful magic crashing against the shield spells. They should fail. They do not.

A mighty blow sends the entire sarcophagus flying through the air. My head bonks against the surface.

“Ow!”

I cough some blood. It appears that Bertrand grazed a lung. That would explain the horrible pain. The wound is only now starting to close with excruciating slowness.

An indicator flashes blue above my head. Sunlight exposure.

Hold on.

That moron catapulted me outside! I am safe! Even if he sends mortals, they will be pulverized by the traps. It would take a cannon to breach it.

I really hope that they do not find one. This is Virginia, after all. There are tens of thousands of soldiers around.