Bloodborn (44 page)

Ulrika stood rigid, searching an argument against the countess’s cold logic, but finding none.

Gabriella sighed and stepped to her, taking her arm. ‘I am sorry, my dear. But if you love him so, then make him your swain. He can be a replacement for Rodrik if you like. Then he will always be with you.’

Ulrika pulled free of her, angry. ‘It is because I love him so that I won’t make a swain of him!’ she cried. ‘I love him for what he is – for all his hardness and honour and pain. He is a good man, a man with a mind of his own. I won’t make some fawning, hem-kissing lapdog of him! It… it would sicken me! I do not want slaves for lovers, I want equals!’

Gabriella nodded, and some painful memory seemed to pass behind her eyes. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘I understand. This is why we are wisest when we love among our own kind, or not at all.’ She looked up at Ulrika, her eyes sad. ‘Then I’m afraid you must kill him. It is really the most merciful choice.’

Ulrika met her glance, her breast boiling with anger. ‘You command me to kill? You promised my friends you would teach me to do no harm!’

Gabriella did not flinch from her glare. Instead she held it, her eyes growing as cold as winter stars. ‘You have already done the harm, girl,’ she said. ‘The moment you revealed yourself to him. He was dead then, and you only tortured him by dragging out his death throes until now. If you wish to honour my vow to your friends, then kill him and repair the harm, and don’t do it again. Consider it a lesson learned.’ She held out her arm. ‘Now come, help me up the stairs.’

Ulrika took Gabriella’s arm and started up the steps with her, all the while her mind whirling like water going down a drain. Every argument the countess had put forward made sense. For her protection and the protection of the Lahmian sisterhood, Templar Holmann must die. For his own sanity and the peace of his soul, Templar Holmann must die. For Ulrika’s own guilt and pain, Templar Holmann must die, but still, all she could think of was running ahead and lowering him out of a window and telling him to flee.

They came at last to the door of the guest room where Ulrika had left the witch hunter, and stopped before it. Gabriella turned to Ulrika and gave her a questioning look. Ulrika hesitated then shook her head.

‘I’m sorry, mistress,’ she said. ‘I cannot.’

Gabriella’s face grew closed and still, a blank mask. ‘You disappoint me, child,’ she said. ‘But very well, then I will do it.’

Ulrika stepped in front of the door. ‘Mistress, please.’

Gabriella shoved her aside with surprising strength, then opened the door and stepped in. Ulrika prayed that she would find the room empty and the window open, but her hope was denied. Holmann lay on the bed, bare to the waist and clutching his wounded arm, eyes closed in pain. Ulrika stopped in the door, paralysed, as Gabriella continued towards him.

Holmann opened his eyes and looked up as she approached. ‘Lady?’

Gabriella smiled at him and sat beside him on the bed. ‘Templar Holmann,’ she said. ‘Your wounds plague you?’

‘Only a little,’ he said. ‘If you wish me to leave, I will be on my way.’

‘Not at all,’ said Gabriella. ‘You must rest. Tonight will be soon enough for you to go. Will your pain let you sleep?’

‘I will manage,’ said Holmann. ‘Though if you have some brandy?’

Gabriella stroked his forehead. ‘I have something better than that,’ she said. ‘Something that will ease your pain, and my own. Now, close your eyes.’

Holmann pulled back, suddenly wary. He shot a questioning look over Gabriella’s shoulder to Ulrika. ‘Close my eyes?’ he asked. ‘What will you do?’

Ulrika lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze.

‘I only want to help you sleep, Herr Templar,’ said Gabriella, taking his chin and turning his face back to hers. ‘Now close your eyes.’

Holmann struggled to sit up. ‘Lady, I do not like this. Please. Fetch me brandy or leave me be.’

‘Close your eyes,’ Gabriella repeated, her voice like warm honey. ‘Close your eyes.’

‘Lady…’ Holmann murmured, his eyelids drooping. ‘Ulrika, tell… her…’

Ulrika sobbed as the templar’s head fell back against the pillow and Gabriella lowered her lips to his bare neck. Ulrika was unable to watch. She clutched her arms to her chest and pressed her face to the door frame, closing her eyes and wishing for tears.

There was something hard under her left elbow – something inside her doublet. Her eyes flashed open. The silvered dagger. She held still as a terrible thought came to her, then turned and looked at Gabriella, bent over Holmann and entirely defenceless.

Ulrika’s hand slipped inside her doublet and closed around the hilt of the dagger. The countess wouldn’t even know it was coming. She would be dead before she could turn. Ulrika could save Holmann and run away with him – leave the Empire, have adventures in foreign lands, live outside any society except their own.

But as quick as the daydreams came, the realities overran them like Kossar cavalry – Holmann growing old, hating her for feeding, trying to kill her as he had his parents. Could she kill Gabriella for that? Could she murder the woman who had saved her and raised her, who had protected her and comforted her when she had made some childish mistake? Without Gabriella, Ulrika would be dead.

The thought made her look up. The curtains over the window were only partially closed, and a sword blade of sunlight stabbed through into the dimness. If she could not kill Gabriella, perhaps she could kill herself. She had silver in her hand and sunlight only steps away. But though visions of stabbing herself in the neck, or crashing through the leaded window into the daylight flashed through her mind, they remained only visions. She could move neither her hand nor her feet.

Gabriella sat back with a sigh of relief, then turned to Ulrika. ‘Will you feed, beloved?’

Ulrika closed her eyes and shook her head – and let go of the dagger, a coward once again. ‘Not from him,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t.’

‘Of course,’ said Gabriella. ‘I understand.’ She turned back to Holmann, who lay now in blissful slumber, took his rugged head in her delicate hands, and snapped his neck as if it were a twig.

Ulrika choked and turned away, eyes closing tight, sobbing without tears. Behind her she heard Gabriella stand and cross to her. The countess’s arms slipped around her and held her close.

‘I am sorry, beloved,’ she whispered. ‘But it had to be.’

Ulrika struggled in her embrace, but Gabriella only held her tighter.

‘I know the pain is terrible,’ she said. ‘But it will pass, I promise you. And the sooner you put humans and human emotions behind you, the sooner it will go.’

She kissed Ulrika on the cheek, then released her and stepped to the door. ‘Now come,’ she said. ‘We have much to do.’

Ulrika hesitated as Gabriella passed into the hall. She looked back at Holmann, his hard, handsome face made weak and childish by the insipid smile Lahmian mercy had painted upon it, then she shot a last glance at the blade of sunlight streaming through the half-covered window.

Someday, she thought as she turned and followed the countess, someday I will have the courage.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

N
ATHAN
L
ONG
was a struggling screenwriter for fifteen years, during which time he had three movies made and a handful of live-action and animated TV episodes produced. Now he is a novelist, and is enjoying it much more. For Black Library he has written three Warhammer novels featuring the Blackhearts, and he took over the Gotrek and Felix series, starting with the eighth instalment,
Orcslayer
.
He is currently writing the Ulrika the Vampire series.

To Rob Clark, who bled for this.

A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

Published in 2010 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK

Cover illustration by Winona Nelson.

Map by Nuala Kinrade.

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ISBN 978-0-85787-090-2

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