I know what Finley would say; that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, that I can’t hold myself responsible for the actions of others.
I go up a curving flight of stairs, encountering even more undead attackers. There isn’t a single living body amongst them, but from a strategic perspective, it makes perfect sense, because I would kill living men far more easily than dead ones.
I have a rough idea of the layout. I’ll turn this place over in search of them—and most importantly, Finley’s mother. I’ve visited this castle before, on official business. A banquet was held in my honor, hosted by Duke Rhaegar Talavarra himself.
The duke was pleasant on the surface, following imperial protocol to the letter, but sometimes the mask would slip, and I’d see his resentment.
I didn’t pay it much heed at the time. A lot of people resented me, and still do.
It comes with the territory, I suppose.
I speed down another corridor then turn a corner, where I come face to face with a squadron of men.
Not undead, but men.
They’re in full plate-armor, their faces hidden behind curved helms, their breastplates adorned with the twin serpent insignia of House Talavarra.
I stop, lowering my twin war-axes.
I stare at them.
They stare back; unspeaking, unmoving, as if they’ve encountered a ghost.
“Bloody hells,” one of them curses. “He’s here already.”
“Fucking monster.”
The irony isn’t lost on me.
I count at least a dozen soldiers. Some of them have crossbows.
One is raising his, firing it straight at me.
His aim is good. The bolt would have hit me right in the heart if I hadn’t plucked it right out of the air.
I throw the steel bolt to the floor.
The sniper swears.
“I’d rather not kill you,” I say quietly as I approach.
The soldiers don’t move. They simply stare at me, frozen and silent. I don’t know what I must look like to them; covered in the stench and filth of the undead, my armor torn and shredded, a pair of massive war-axes in my hands.
My body is strong—I feel like I could go on fighting for an eternity—but the thirst is starting to creep up on me again.
I can smell their blood. It isn’t tantalizing like Finley’s, but I know it will make me strong.
The primal part of me is overcome with a sudden urge to feed.
Blades are drawn. The men advance, but there’s hesitation in their steps.
Unlike the undead, mortal men are influenced by fear.
“I’ll give you one chance,” I inform them. “Stand aside, and you won’t be killed.”
But they refuse to move.
I sigh. “Why are you doing this? You have to know that what’s come to pass here is an abomination.”
“Evil to fight evil,” one of the men replies, a tremor in his voice. “We can’t allow one such as you to take all the power in this empire. Your kind don’t die. It’s wrong. Better to have one of our own ruling us. Not a blood-drinking monster.”
And you think that one who resorts to Death Magic would be any better?
“You don’t even know me,” I growl, stalking toward the speaker. He lifts his sword and rushes me.
I dance around his swift attack. Dropping my axes, I grab his sword-wrist and squeeze hard, crushing his armor and his bones. I pull him close and tear off his helm.
He’s just a young man, with dark curls and a neatly trimmed beard. His ears are adorned with several golden hoops—in the way of the Padran people.
His pulse beats wildly in his neck. He thrashes and writhes, but I easily overpower him, holding him still as I sink my fangs into his neck.
I drink. Quickly, efficiently. It’s nothing more than sustenance at this point.
Nothing like the sacred bliss I experience when Finley offers herself to me.
This is forced.
I’d rather not, but I have no choice. I can’t afford to become weak here.
Recognizing that he can’t fight, he goes limp in my grasp. I wrap my arm around his neck, cutting off his air until he goes unconscious.
I let him go, and he slumps to the ground.
I leave him there and advance up on the remaining soldiers. “If you attack, you’ll die. Then what do you think will happen? Your lord will turn you into monsters like the ones I destroyed downstairs. You’ll become undead fiends, and then I’ll have to kill you again.”
A barrage of arrows flies at me. I duck and deflect. Suffused with the blood of the soldier, I feel invincible again. When one of the crossbow bolts penetrates my armor, I simply yank it out, and my body heals.
I’d really prefer not to kill these men.
They know not what they do.
I stop.
The men hesitate, the tips of their swords wavering.
I see a gap; man-sized, leading toward a wide set of doors, through which I can see another corridor.
I know what I’ll do.
Why should I fight them?
“When I become emperor,” I say softly, seizing the last moment of their hesitation, “just remember that I could have killed you, and I didn’t.”
Then I move through the spaces between them, faster than the eye can see, disappearing before their very eyes.
They can’t catch me. I don’t want them to catch me, either.
I reach a vast hall, lined with polished parquetry floors, the ornate ceilings inlaid with gilt. My boots leave a trail of filthy footprints across the pristine floor.
Another set of doors greets me—carved with motifs of vines and flowers and scrollwork, their entire surface painted in gold.
If I remember correctly, this passage leads to Deignar Castle’s great hall and throne room.
And there are people inside. Presences; at least three of them. I can hear their slow, steady breathing, and the rapid thud of their heartbeats.
A soft sigh escapes my lips. Is this what they wanted? To throw the full force of a necromancer’s powers at me before I reached them?
Did they think all that would weaken me?
If anything, it just strengthens my resolve.
What comes next is going to be difficult, but if what I think I know about Finley’s mother proves to be right, this could all be over very quickly.
Knowledge is the key to power in this empire, and I don’t think the Talavarras truly understand what they’re dealing with.
59
CORVAN
As I approach, the doors silently swing open before I even touch them.
I walk through without hesitation.
What point is there in being cautious, when I already know they’re expecting me?
Besides, I want to see my little brother. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken with him.
I want to see how he’s grown; what he’s become.
Whether he’s salvageable.
This is indeed the Great Hall of Deignar Castle, also known as the throne room, where the duke sits when he attends to his official business. It’s smaller than the great hall in my own castle, but the decor and furnishings are much more elaborate; all gilt and velvet and polished floors and ornate carvings.
Silence hangs over the room, thick and oppressive. But I can hear the presences within it. They shift and move in their silks. They breathe and tense.
I can smell them. Human traces. Things I know so very well. Sweat and cloying fragrance.
Woodsmoke. Ash. Incense.
Decay. Old, dried blood.