Burning Shadows (44 page)

“Do you truly think this will work?” Imperus asked Bernardius. “I think we have a better chance to survive by evacuating than remaining here for the Huns to come. It is a risk to leave, but remaining is a certainty of our defeat. We’ve lost too many people to the Huns already.” Bernardius cleared his throat. “This way, using the evacuation as best we can, some of us will probably survive. When the Huns return …” He left the rest to his soldiers’ imagination.

“What if the Huns discover our evacuation plan? Everyone says there is a Hunnic spy in our midst, don’t they?”

“There may be,” said Neves, “but if we let that consideration stop us, then we will surely be killed.”

“Find the spy!” Imperus shouted.

“That would waste valuable time, and undermine our efforts to spare as many of the refugees here as can be managed.” With an emphatic salute Bernardius declared, “Carpi horam.” He licked his lips. “At least we’ll all dine well today.”

“And there’s new beer,” called out one of the refugees.

“We must keep our evacuation uppermost in what we do,” Mangueinic reminded them.

“Everyone!” Neves shouted. “Let’s get our food. We can meet again this evening, and work out the details of our strategy.”

Priam Corydon coughed discreetly. “I’ll order Monachos Bessamos to inform the monks and determine when we are to depart.” 

“There is now one question we must decide before we organize our retreat,” said Bernardius. He waited until he had the full attention of all the men, then said, “We must decide who is to be left behind.”

There was a long, uneasy silence. Then Mangueinic asked, “What would that entail?”

“Trying to make it appear that the monastery is still occupied, that the refugees haven’t left,” said Bernardius, not willing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“And if the Huns come?” The speaker was one of the men from Ulpia Traiana; he folded his arms as he waited for the answer.

“Whoever is left behind needn’t wait to be killed. Once he sees the Huns are coming, he should not have to wait for an arrow in— If he can escape, he should.” Color mounted in Bernardius’ face.

“Do you think it likely that he—or they—could escape?” This from the novice Ritt. “It seems to me that anyone remaining here for very long will die.”

Mangueinic glared at the young man. “It is a chance that such a man or men must be willing to recognize.”

“But who will stay?” Imperus challenged.

In the quiet of the warehouse, Sanctu-Germainios said, “I will.” 

“And I,” said Niklos.

Bernardius stared at the two of them. “You? Both of you?” Sanctu-Germainios came away from the door, walking slowly toward the Tribune. “I was appointed regional guardian by the Emperor; it is fitting that I protect those travelers bound for Roman territory who come into the region, as I did in Apulum Inferior.” He straightened up, his voice purposeful. “It is my sworn duty to see to the safety and welfare of those who leave here.”

Bernardius frowned. “You are a foreigner, Dom.”

“To you, yes, but not to this place. My people came from these mountains to the east of this place; that was many years ago, but the ties remain,” Sanctu-Germainios said, aware that it was nearly two thousand five hundred years since he had lived in these mountains, and that his people were vanished from the earth, except for him. “This place is near enough my native earth that I wish to protect it. I know a few tricks that would make taking even an empty place, as this will be, more costly than the Huns anticipate.”

“He’s told me that before, in Apulum Inferior, that his people came from the eastern hook of these mountains,” Mangueinic said with an emphatic nod. “He would want to defend them on his people’s behalf.”

“Then he is a courageous man,” Neves said sincerely, then rounded on Niklos. “What about you?”

Niklos smiled, ready with his answer. “My bond-holder sent me to Sanctu-Germainios to serve him in whatever way he required for as long as he was in danger. If I’m to remain true to my mission, I’ll have to stay with him. It is what Bondama Clemens would expect me to do.”

The men in the warehouse faltered. “That’s most honorable,” said Bernardius at last. “I accept your offer, on behalf of those you brought here.”

This time there was a general vociferous approval from all the men, including the few monks who stood with Priam Corydon.

“Good!” Bernardius shouted. “Then we will gather again to - night, before retiring, and discuss how we plan to proceed!”

“God bless, keep, and save you,” Priam Corydon declared, making the sign of the cross.

The door was thrust open and the men hurried out of the warehouse, many of them conversing urgently as they dispersed to their posts and tasks throughout the monastery. Directly overhead, the sun glared down on them, a disk of molten metal turning the mountains to an anvil for a vast celestial smithy.

Niklos caught up with Sanctu-Germainios not far from the old chapel. “Do you really have some tricks to use against the Huns, or was that only to assuage the guilt of the men who’re willing to let you stay here for them at the risk of your life?” He spoke in Greek, and not so loudly that he could be easily overheard. “What would you like me to do to assist you?”

“I do have a trick or two that you and I can use, if you truly want to remain here with me,” said Sanctu-Germainios. “I cannot swear that you will take no hurt for doing this: the Huns still might kill us, but that is not as easily done with you and me than it is for the rest of them.”

“I can’t dispute that,” said Niklos, not quite laughing. “And speaking of such things, what about your companion? Will you send her away?”

“Nicoris? I hope she will consent to go with the last of the refugees from Tsapousso tomorrow. I would like to be with her when she comes to my life, but in this case, I think she will have a better chance at changing without having to fight off the Huns while doing it.” His tone was light enough, but there was a somberness in his dark eyes that banished all traces of levity.

“Then what will you tell her?” Niklos asked. “If she knows you’re staying, she may want to remain here as well.”

“I will tell her the truth,” Sanctu-Germainios answered, and opened the door to the old chapel, noticing as he did the lingering odor of fatally burned flesh. He called aloud, “It’s Sanctu-Germainios and Niklos.”

“Not Niklos,” he corrected. “I’m off to the stable, to be sure the horses are ready to travel: hooves trimmed, teeth floated, and manes and tails braided to keep out burrs and brambles. I’ll ready packs of grain for them, too, and repair any worn tack.” Stepping back, he turned and strode off down the gradual slope, no trace of worry in his demeanor as he went.

Sanctu-Germainios pulled the door closed; the light from the windows in the barrel-dome was sufficient to reveal the shadowy interior of the building for eyes less able to pierce the dark than his. A quick glance around the room revealed Nicoris standing off to the side of the room next to the pallet where Monachos Anatolios lay, a ceramic cup in her hands.

She spoke without looking at him. “Dom, he has been complaining of thirst. I’ve tried to give him water, with three drops of the blue lotus dilution in each cup. It’s helped him to sleep, and eased his pain.”

“How much have you given him so far? How many cups has he drunk.” Sanctu-Germainios asked as he came to her side.

“This is his fourth cup since morning Mass,” she said.

He nodded. “I wouldn’t give him any more until sundown—not that I think he’ll wake up before then. He may need the water, but he is weak, and the blue lotus, even much diluted, can prove fatal in cases like his.”

“As you wish,” she said cautiously.

“Is something the matter?” He studied her face, his expression unreadable.

She did not answer at once, but continued to stare down into the cup. “They say we’ll all be killed by the Huns if we don’t leave.” 

“They’ve been saying that since we got here,” he reminded her. “Um. But they mean it now.” She looked directly at him.

He took a moment to consider how to respond. “Given the number of people who have left here already, I would think it likely that this monastery will be abandoned by winter.”

“Completely abandoned?” Her voice was small.

“Probably,” he said, turning to her and taking the cup from her hands. “If you want to live, you should join one of the parties bound for Roman forts.”

“I should? What about you? Are you sending me away?”

“No. But I hope you will go. I hope you will choose safety, and arrange to leave.” He set the cup down next to the pitcher of water at the end of the pallet before he laid his hands on her shoulders. “The Huns will be back. There will be more of them than before, and there will be fewer defenders. For your—”

She pulled away from him, blurting out as she did, “But don’t you see? I can’t go! I’m a Hun! What do you think would happen if anyone found out? Do you think anyone here would let me travel in their company?” As soon as she realized what she had said, she recoiled, clapping her hand to her mouth, watching Sanctu-Germainios with fearful eyes. “I didn’t… I don’t…” No explanation came to her.

He regarded her tranquilly, his expression unchanged. “You have nothing to fear, Nicoris, not from me.” He fell silent, waiting for what she would say next. “It is in your blood.”

When she spoke again, she was incredulous, edgy, and disheartened. “You mean you know I’m—”

“—a Hun; yes, I know; I’ve known for some time. And I am aware that you want to keep that information secret.” As her eyes widened, he went on, “I have tasted your blood, the very essence of you, and we have touched each other as deeply as anyone can touch.” He saw her catch her lower lip in her teeth. “Ah, Nicoris. How could I not know you are a Hun, and recognize your desire to conceal that knowledge? It is as much a part of you as your quicksilver eyes.”

Disgusted with herself for the distrust she felt, she asked him, “Have you told anyone? anyone at all?”

“Why would I do that?” His words were gentle and his dark eyes engaged all her attention; there was no hint of remonstration in any aspect of his behavior; kindness emanated from him like faint music. “You were unwilling to tell me; I know you fear what the people in this monastery might do to you, not without reason, so I have kept your confidence, as you have kept mine.”

“Kept yours?” She was baffled.

“The refugees most certainly hate Huns, but they dread vampires.” He took a single step toward her. “If you have not considered this, then I ask you to do so now. Each of us has a secret for the other to keep.”

She turned away, her chagrin threatening to overwhelm her. “You’re trying to bewilder me.”

“I would not do that to you.”

“Don’t say that.” She hunched her shoulders. “Not if you’re going to send me away.”

“I am not going to do that, but I do hope you will realize that you will have a better chance at living if you go than if you stay here.” He sighed. “I would hate to see you throw your life away here.”

“You’re prepared to do that,” she told him bluntly. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because I intend not to die,” he responded. “Niklos and I will remain here only until the Huns are on their way to this valley, and then we will leave.”

“And they will pursue you,” she said. “They will ride you down.” Her eyes softened.

“I think not,” said Sanctu-Germainios.

She swung around to face him. “You’ll be chased by Huns.
Huns!
Don’t you understand?”

“I have been chased by Egyptians and Babylonians and Hittites and Carthaginians and Greeks and Persians and Chinese and Arabs and Assyrians and many, many others, all sworn to deliver me the True Death, and I am still here,” he said.

“But you can die: you told me so,” she said.

“Everyone, everything dies eventually.” His half-smile was quickly gone.

“You’re most vexing, Dom,” she said, coming toward him again.

“I do not mean to be,” he assured her.

“That,” she said, feeling disheartened, “is most vexing of all.” Before she could stop herself, she went into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, her face averted from his. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He stroked her hair. “You will not.”

“How can you be so certain?” She wanted to believe him, but her experiences told her that it would be reckless to rely on him. “Once we are separated, we may never find each other again.”

“The Blood Bond will remain as long as we … live our lives. While we can breathe, you will always be a part of me, and I of you.”

She shivered in the hot afternoon, clinging to him, wanting to quiet the turbulence within her. “So you
do
desire me?”

“Of course,” he said softly.

“Then why don’t you take what you want?” She tightened her hold on him. “Why do you have to wait for me to want you?”

“It is my nature,” he said. “I thought you understood that?”

She turned toward him without releasing him, and kissed him near his mouth. “Then I want you. You can waken my desires: you know that. Do it. If you aren’t afraid to.” This was a direct challenge, one that she expected him to answer. “If you really accept me, show me.”